"The vine shall give her fruit, and the ground shall give her increase,
and the heavens shall give their dew."
The fire of Freedom burns,
March to her altar now:
Bear on the sacred urns
Where all her sons must bow.
Woman of nerve and thought,
Bring in the urn your power!
By you is manhood taught
To meet this supreme hour.
Come with your sunlit life,
Maiden of gentle eye!
Bring to the gloom of strife
Light by which heroes die.
Give, rich men, proud and free,
Your children's costliest gem!
For Liberty shall be
Your heritage to them.
O friend, with heavy urn,
What offering bear you on?
The figure did not turn;
I heard a voice, "My son."
The fire of Freedom burns,
Her flame shall reach the heaven:
Heap up our sacred urns,
Though life for life be given!