I know a woman of leisure who lived in Paris; Ten happy, fleeting years she had spent there; Then she returned to the land of her birth-- For a visit. She made the visit shorter than she had intended; She thought of the arts she had left behind; She thought of the boulevards and lighted cafes; She thought of the Countess de C. and her _cercle_ of friends; Our streets and cities she no longer liked; Our people seemed bourgeois to her; Our life was too busy, and fulsome of noise; She longed for leisure and fashion; She scorned our ways. She, too, had not known the Soul of our land, Though born under the Stars and Stripes. My brothers, there are many of these. VII My brother, what is Liberty? What is Democracy? I feel a quiver run Through our nation-- What is it we have left undone In faith and consecration? Our faith of old-- Has it grown cold? Is it the search for gold That made us turn from pledges of the past, Forgetful of the things that last? To play? To chase the shadows in the sun? To count the trifles won? My brother, What is it we have left undone? What is it we must do? How can we see things through, In this New Age? There is the flesh of body, in which the life of man is rooted; There is the light of the soul, which makes that life a child of God. There is the flesh of body, in which the life of a people is rooted; There is the light of her soul, which makes that life a nation. What is our nation’s Soul? America’s Light? Her entity as a nation among nations? Her Being, I mean, her Heart, the glow Of her Spirit whereby she grows; Her mind whereby she knows Herself; her Entity Among the nations, free Or bound;--this Soul, do you know?