"O strange New World that yit wast never young, 

 Whose youth from thee by gripin' need was wrung, 

 Brown foundlin' o' the woods, whose baby-bed 

 Was prowled roun' by the Injun's cracklin' tread, 

 And who grew'st strong thru shifts an' wants an' pains, 

 Nursed by stern men with empires in their brains, 

 Who saw in vision their young Ishmel strain 

 With each hard hand a vassal ocean's mane; 

 Thou skilled by Freedom and by gret events 

 To pitch new states ez Old World men pitch tents, 

 Thou taught by fate to know Jehovah's plan, 

 Thet man's devices can't unmake a man. 



Oh, my friends, thank your God, if you have one, that he 

 'Twixt the Old World and you set the gulf of a sea, 

 Be strong-backed, brown-handed, upright as your pines, 

 By the scale of a hemisphere shape your designs." 



LOWELL 



YOL. Y. 



