Freedom waves her joyous pinions
O'er a land, from sea to sea,
Ransomed, righteous, and rejoicing
In a world-wide jubilee.
O'er a people happy, holy,
Gifted now with heavenly grace,
Free from every sordid fetter
That enslaved a fallen race.
Union, love, and fellow feeling
Mark the sainted day of power;
Rich and poor in all things equal,
Righteousness their rock and tower.
Mountain peaks of pride are leveled,
Lifted up the lowly plain,
Crookedness made straight, while crudeness
Now gives way to culture's reign.
Now no tyrant's sceptre saddens;
Now no bigot's power can bind.
Faith and work, alike unfettered,
Win the goal by heaven designed.
God, not mammon, hath the worship
Of His people, pure in heart:
This is Zion--oh, ye nations,
Choose with her "the better part!"
Crown and sceptre, sword and buckler--
Baubles!--lay them at her feet.
Strife no more shall vex creation;
Christ's is now the kingly seat.
Cities, empires, kingdoms, powers,
In one mighty realm divine.
She, the least and last of nations,
Henceforth as their head shall shine.
'Tis thy future glory, Zion,
Glittering in celestial rays,
As the ocean's sun-lit surging
Rolls upon my raptured gaze!
All that ages past have promised,
All that noblest minds have prized,
All that holy lips have prayed for,
Here at last is realized.
--_Orson F. Whitney._