Classic Poem

We are floating, we are rushing,
On the rapid tide of time,
Down the vista of the prophets,
To the grand and glorious clime.

We have heard the prophets preaching
Of a glorious Day to be,
When the earth shall join the heavens
In a final jubilee.

And we know the world keeps moving
Toward that glorious coming time,
For we hear its chariots rumbling
In a march that is sublime:

For we hear the heavens ringing
With the triumphs of the free,
And we hear the trump of Freedom
Sound a joyous jubilee.

All the heart of the Republic,
Filled with blood from every clime,
Beats in union with the music
Of the grand and glorious time:

To the trumpet-march of Freedom,
To its jubilee and song,
As it marches with the current
Of the glorious time along.

Men are carried with the current
Though resisting as they may,
Past the landmarks of the ages
To the coming golden Day.

For they cannot turn the tide back,
And they cannot stay the sun;
For the light will shine from heaven,
And the living waters run.

Not the Fates of the old heathen,
But the God of Christian lands
Holds the destiny of nations
In His own Almighty hands.

All the bright and starry heavens,
Seas, and earth, are all His own;
And the rulers of the nations
Are the subjects of His Throne.

Just as sure as Earth, revolving,
Makes the circuit of the stars,
Coming back where it first started
To the Morning's golden bars,

So the world will keep on moving,
On the rushing tide of time,
Till it reach the gates of Eden,
In the glorious, golden clime.