“_The Song of Freedom_”
Not in the present we live, today, but in the past
The past, whose glorious echoes shall resound
Through the far, unfooted sands of time.
Though we celebrate
No lustrous history of the race, but the growth
Of a single town, we yet do homage to
The cosmic plan for all the years in this,
That the vast mosaic time is fashioned bit
By bit and each part needful to the perfect
Pattern of the years. The centuries live,
Though they who trod their paths are dead, they live
In the blue sky, the golden light, the gray hills,
In the deep sea, the weary wind, and the dark night.
The centuries live though whole peoples pass away.
Yet do they pass? Nay--in the warm lineaments
Of a face, we view the beauty of a thousand
Years, the subtle secrets of a buried race,
The deep browed intellect that has made
A nation great. Rome still lives in some ampler
Forum of today. In a hillside temple
Greece survives. The cold ruin of decay
Chills not the new wrought in the mould of yesterday,
Though thy children sleep above thy calm pond, beneath
The soft canopy of the sky, oh Unity,
Though they lie ’neath some far off plain, or rest
In aliens’ graves o’er sea, though their bones lie bleached
On unrecorded battlefield, or tangled
’Mid the dark secrets of an ocean cave,
Though dead, they live in thee--in the open, sunlit
Meadow, the winding road, the broken forest,
The church, the school, the home.
Though dead, their dumb lips, eloquent,
Shall still bespeak their toils, their hopes, their fears.
Perchance where now runs the peaceful road, once
Some unquiet heart prayed heaven, in the forest
Solitude, for strength to bear the toil,
The sacrifice, the loneliness that the life
In the untrod woods entailed.
Here hath been the ringing of the ax,
In the deep woods, from the tender, tremulous
Morn, from the hot noonday to the dusky night.
Here eyes have watched for the first low-lighted gleam
Of dawn to sweep the starry hosts away
And bring hope to hopeless hearts. Here the weary
Sower hath split the grain on the warm slope
Through the long day. Here the huntsman hath
Shot the deer, and here hath been the whir
Of the loom, the hum of the busy wheel, and here
Such peace that thy children called thee Unity.
From a scattering hut to a busy
Town was the dream of more than a score of years,
Was the life of men who toiled and won their way.
The spots where their feet have trod--
Dead sons and daughters of these woods and streams
And hills, let the living feet press reverently.
By the altar of their prayers and toils and fears
May the living consecrate a sacred shrine
Of their souls’ best to stand throughout the years.
Today the independence bells
Shall peal, her drums resound, her cannon
Boom to celebrate our Union’s birth
And thine own, fair Unity, with freedom’s song.
Truth to thy country and thy God
And the whole world beside--
For this our fathers toiled and bled
That in peace we might abide;
And far-off peoples heard the cry
Of freedom ringing wide.
From far beyond the seas they came
To dwell in this fair land,
To till the soil and plant the plain
As had our fathers planned;
And still they come from overseas,
Led hither by God’s hand.
America is free--for this
Her rocks and hills flowed red with blood.
They fell, her sons, on her wide plains,
By her swift streams, in the green wood.
They gave their lives for freedom,
And ours, not theirs, the good.
They gave their lives for freedom,
And we, what have we done--
Do the stars and stripes still float
O’er the land of freedom’s sun?
We shall know it by her people
If our land be a free one.
There each man shall be neighbor
And no man wear a crown;
And each man shall be happy
And live in a free town,
And his toil shall bring him comfort
And his worth shall bring renown.
And they that come from overseas,
Bowed by the oppressor’s hand,
To win a name and find a home
In the freedom of God’s land,
Shall not be serfs to bear the yoke,
But brothers to command.
What have we done for freedom,
That the deeds of our sires shall stand
Till the last star set in heaven
And the last wave wash the strand--
Have we held fast the purpose
Our exile fathers planned?
Men are starving in the cities,
Fall like beasts upon the plain;
Waste their lives with toil and grieving
That their striving may attain
What the soul within them pleadeth,
Die, and seem to strive in vain.
God knows if our aims be noble,
Our leaders false or true;
He knows if our hearts are loyal
To the faith of the red, white and blue;
He knows if we love His children
In His kingdom the wide world through.
Then up for the cause of freedom;
Let wars and wrangling cease,
And the stars and stripes forever
Wave o’er a land of peace,
Till the world shall join together
As brothers to the race.
A band concert and a reception now followed. At eight in the evening
the fireworks were set off, under the management of F. M. Fairbanks,
aided by E. D. Chase, Geo. E. Grant and John Hamilton, and at a late
hour the grand ball was opened in the new hall of Adams & Knight.
Morning came and the Unity Centennial was over.