Hezekiah Butterworth

Imagination makes poems; devotion makes hymns. There can be poetry without emotion, but a hymn never.

"An empire to be lost or won!" And who four thousand miles will ride And climb to heaven the Great Divide, And find the way to Washington, Through mountain cañons, winter snows, O'er streams where free the north wind blows,

Evening in majestic shadows fell upon the fortress' walls: Sweetly were the last bells ringing on the James and on the Charles. 'Mid the choruses of freedom two departed victors lay, One beside the blue Rivanna, one by Massachusetts Bay. …

The war's red flames, Charging Tarleton, proud Cornwallis, navies moving on the James.

Reads again the words puissant, "All men are created free," Claims again for man his birthright, claims the world's equality.

Like an isle rose Monticello through the cooled and rippling trees, Like an isle in rippling starlight in the silence of the seas. Ceased the mocking-bird his singing; said the slaves with faltering breath, "'Tis the Third, and on the …

One taper lights a thousand, Yet shines as it has shone; And the humblest light may kindle A brighter than its own. Between a man of peace and war.

Lovely land of Palestina! he thy shores will never see, But, his dream fulfilled, he follows Him who walked in Galilee.

Methinks when I stand in life's sunset, As I stood when we parted at school, I shall see the bright faces of children I loved in the village of Yule.

The voice of the Russias has spoken; Each serf in the Russias is free! Ring, bells, on the Neva and Volga, Ring, bells, on the Caspian Sea!