For never yet, since on the holy height,
The Temple's marble walls of white and green
Carved like sea-waves, fell, and the world's
Went but in darkness,—never was the year
Grojiter with portent and with promise seen.
Than this eve now and here.
Even as the Prophet promised, so your tent
Hath been enlarged unto earth's farthest rim.
To snow-capped Sierras from vast steppes ye went,
Through fire and blood and tempest-tossing wave.
For freedom to proclaim and worship Him,
Mighty to slay and save.
High above flood and fire ye held the scroll.
Out of the depths ye published still the Word.
No bodily pang had power to swerve your soul :
Ye, in a cynic age of crumbling faiths.
Lived to bear witness to the living Lord,
Or died a thousand deaths.
In two divided streams the exiles part.
One rolling homeward to its ancient source.
One rushing sunward with fresh will, new heart.
By each the truth is spread, the law unfurled.
Each separate soul contains the nation's force.
And both embrace the world.
