Along the vales and mountains of the earth
There is a deep, portentous murmuring
Like the swift rush of subterranean streams,
Or like the mingled sounds of earth and air,
When the fierce Tempest, with sonorous wing,
Heaves his deep folds upon the rushing winds,
And hurries onward with his night of clouds
Against the eternal mountains. 'Tis the voice
Of infant _Freedom_--and her stirring call
Is heard and answered in a thousand tones
From every hilltop of her western home----
And lo--it breaks across old Ocean's flood----
And _Freedom, Freedom!_ is the answering shout
Of nations starting from the spell of years.
The dayspring!--see--'tis brightening in the heavens!
The watchmen of the night have caught the sign----
From tower to tower the signal fires flash free----
And the deep watchword, like the rush of seas
That heralds the volcano's bursting flame,
Is sounding o'er the earth. Bright years of hope
And life are on the wing.--Yon glorious bow
Of Freedom, bended by the hand of God,
Is spanning Time's dark surges. Its high arch,
A type of love and mercy on the cloud,
Tells that the many storms of human life
Will pass in silence, and the sinking waves,
Gathering the forms of glory and of peace,
Reflect the undimmed brightness of the Heaven."