THE SOUTH by Abram Joseph Ryan (1839-1894)Yes, give me the land Where the ruins are spread, And the living tread light On the heart of the dead; Yes, give me the land That is blest by the dust, And bright with the deeds Of the down-trodden just. Yes, give me the land Where the battles' red blast Has flashed on the future The form of the past; Yes, give me the land That hath legends and lays That tell of the memories Of long-vanished days. Yes, give me the land That hath story and song To tell of the strife Of the right with the wrong; Yes, give me the land With a grave in each spot And names in the graves That shall not be forgot. Yes, give me the land Of the wreck and the tomb; There's grandeur in graves -- There's glory in gloom. For out of the gloom Future brightness is born; As, after the night Looms the sunrise of morn. And the graves of the dead, With the grass overgrown, May yet form the footstool Of Liberty's throne; And each simple wreck In the way-path of might Shall yet be a rock In the temple of Right.
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Last modified 18-April-2001