O, is not this a holy spot! <br />'T is the high place of Freedom's birth! <br />God of our fathers! is it not <br />The holiest spot of all the earth? <br /> <br /> <br />Quenched is thy flame on Horeb's side; <br />The robber roams o'er Sinai now; <br />And those old men, thy seers, abide <br />No more on Zion's mournful brow. <br /> <br /> <br />But on this hill thou, Lord, hast dwelt, <br />Since round its head the war-cloud curled, <br />And wrapped our fathers, where they knelt <br />In prayer and battle for a world. <br /> <br /> <br />Here sleeps their dust; 't is holy ground; <br />And we, the children of the brave, <br />From the four winds are gathered round, <br />To lay our offering on their grave. <br /> <br /> <br />Free as the winds around us blow, <br />Free as the waves below us spread, <br />We rear a pile, that long shall throw <br />Its shadow on their sacred bed. <br /> <br /> <br />But on their deeds no shade shall fall, <br />While o'er their couch thy sun shall flame; <br />Thine ear was bowed to hear their call, <br />And thy right hand shall guard their fame.<br /><br />John Pierpont<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymns-and-odes-v/
