THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.
69
Then the land rose up with a shout,
“Hail to the Westering Star That leads our conquests afar,
Most welcome, oh noble guest!
Hail to the Prairie Queen
With the eagle’s plumes for a crest,
Pearls of the gulf in her hand And rails of steel for a girdle band!”
Where the moccasined foot has pressed The coming millions shall stand.
Hail to the West!
Who comes up from the South With a smile on her full round mouth,
But trace of a tear in her eye?
Who says, twixt smile and sigh,
(Oh sweet as her own south wind her words) “These my offerings be, look.
The ploughshare beaten from sword,
The spear made pruning-hook,
And the fruits of my pruned vine Today are thine.
Take what my tillage yields—
The cotton-boll from my fields,
Tobacco leaf and cane,
And snowy rice from the brakes Where the balmy east wind wakes And the noontides reign.
My wealth of flowers fair To grace the feast I bear,
And a tropical fruitage rare:
Oranges ripe—a mimic sun Molded in gold is every one;
Bananas that melt in the mouth,
Lemons sweetened with sun—
Take ye these, all and one My gifts,” said the South.
And the people of the land Cried, “This is the harvest fair After the years of drought,
And the rain of blood and tears.
No land so fruitful appears,
And her wheat shall know no tares!”
And her sisters pressed anear And they kissed her on the mouth,
And the nation shouted and cried:
“Hail to the South in her glad new pride Hail to the South! ”
Smiled the Great Mother, and said,
“Peace. The old issues are dead,
And the wars are over and done.
In one sky glitter afar Southern Cross—Northern Star.