Classic Poem

The prairies to the mountains call,
The mountains to the sea;
From shore to shore a nation keeps
Her martyr's memory.

Though lowly born, the seal of God
Was in that rugged face:
Still from the humble Nazareths come
The saviors of the race.

With patient heart and vision clear
He wrought through trying days, —
" Malice toward none, with love for all,"
Unswerved by blame or praise.

And when the morn of Peace broke through
The battle's cloud and din,
He hailed with joy the promised land
He might not enter in.

He seemed as set by God apart,
The winepress trod alone;
Now stands he forth an uncrowned king,
A people's heart his throne.

Land of our loyal love and hope,
O Land he died to save,
Bow down, renew to-day thy vows
Beside his martyr grave!