divinely tall,
    Touched but in passing by her mantle-hem. 
    Come back, then, noble pride, for ’tis her dower! 375
        How could poet ever tower,
        If his passions, hopes, and fears,
        If his triumphs and his tears,
        Kept not measure with his people? 
    Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves! 380
    Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple! 
    Banners, adance with triumph, bend your staves! 
      And from every mountain-peak
      Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak,
      Katahdin tell Monadnock, Whiteface he, 385
      And so leap on in light from sea to sea,
        Till the glad news be sent
        Across a kindling continent,
    Making earth feel more firm and air breathe braver: 
    “Be proud! for she is saved, and all have helped to save her! 390
      She that lifts up the manhood of the poor,
      She of the open soul and open door,
      With room about her hearth for all mankind! 
      The fire is dreadful in her eyes no more;
      From her bold front the helm she doth unbind, 395
      Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin,
      And bids her navies, that so lately hurled
      Their crashing battle, hold their thunders in,
    Swimming like birds of calm along the unharmful shore. 
      No challenge sends she to the elder world, 400
      That looked askance and hated; a light scorn
      Plays o’er her mouth, as round her mighty knees
      She calls her children back, and waits the morn
    Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas.”

XII.

    Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release! 405
      Thy God, in these distempered days,
      Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways,
    And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace! 
        Bow down in prayer and praise! 
    No poorest in thy borders but may now 410
    Lift to the juster skies a man’s enfranchised brow,
    O Beautiful! my Country! ours once more! 
    Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair
    O’er such sweet brows as never other wore,
        And letting thy set lips, 415
        Freed from wrath’s pale eclipse,
    The rosy edges of their smile lay bare,
    What words divine of lover or of poet
    Could tell our love and make thee know it,
    Among the Nations bright beyond compare? 420
        What were our lives without thee? 
        What all our lives to save thee? 
        We reck not what we gave thee;
        We will not dare to doubt thee,
    But ask whatever else, and we will dare! 425