All gone! 'tis ours, the goodly land-- Look round--the heritage behold; Go forth--upon the mountains stand, Then, if ye can, be cold. See living vales by living waters blessed, Their wealth see earth's dark caverns yield, See ocean roll, in glory dressed, For all a treasure, and round all a shield: Hark to the shouts of praise Rejoicing millions raise; Gaze on the spires that rise, To point them to the skies, Unfearing and unfeared; Then, if ye can, O then forget To whom ye owe the sacred debt-- The Pilgrim race revered! The men who set faith's burning lights Upon these everlasting heights, To guide their children through the years of time; The men that glorious law who taught, Unshrinking liberty of thought, And roused the nations with the truth sublime. XXV. Forget? no, never--ne'er shall die, Those names to memory dear; I read the promise in each eye That beams upon me here. Descendants of a twice-recorded race, Long may ye here your lofty lineage grace; 'Tis not for you home's tender tie To rend, and brave the waste of waves; 'Tis not for you to rouse and die, Or yield and live a line of slaves; The deeds of danger and of death are done: Upheld by inward power alone, Unhonoured by the world's loud tongue, 'Tis yours to do unknown, And then to die unsung. To other days, to other men belong The penman's plaudit and the poet's song; Enough for glory has been wrought, By you be humbler praises sought; In peace and truth life's journey run, And keep unsullied what your Fathers won. XXVI. Take then my prayer, Ye dwellers of this spot-- Be yours a noiseless and a guiltless lot. I plead not that ye bask In the rank beams of vulgar fame; To light your steps I ask A purer and a holier flame. No bloated growth I supplicate for you, No pining multitude, no pampered few; 'Tis not alone to coffer gold, Nor spreading borders to behold; 'Tis not fast-swelling crowds to win, The refuse-ranks of want and sin-- This be the kind decree: Be ye by goodness crowned, Revered, though not renowned; Poor, if Heaven will, but Free! Free from the tyrants of the hour, The clans of wealth, the clans of power, The coarse, cold scorners of their God; Free from the taint of sin, The leprosy that feeds within, And free, in mercy, from the bigot's rod. XXVII.