SOUND AT CORE.
THE wind is fierce and loud and high,
The angry tempest hurtles by;
With quivering keel and straining sail
The ship of State confronts the gale.
Rocks are ahead and peril near;
But still we face the storm, nor fear,
Saying this brave truth o’er and o’er:
“The nation’s heart is sound at core.”
We knew it in those darker days
When all the kind, familiar ways
And all the tenderness of life
Seemed lost in bitterness and strife;
When, torn with shot and riddled through,
Lay in the dust our Red and Blue,
Dropped by the gallant hands that bore,
We said it when the war-cloud rent,
And out of field and out of tent
The bronzèd soldiers, Blue and Gray,
Took each the peaceful homeward way;
When the foiled traitors sought to attain
By fraud what force had failed to gain,—
Heart-sick, we said the words once more:
“The nation’s heart is sound at core.”
And always, as the worst seemed near,
And stout hearts failed for very fear,
Came a great throb the country through,—
The nation’s heart still beating true!
Ah, mother-land and mother-breast,
We still will trust you and will rest;
Although waves howl and tempests lower,
Your heart, our heart, is sound at core.