Charles Rufus Skinner.

Manual of patriotism : for use in the public schools of the State of New York online

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Words by Gertrude Sneller.

<o_0-j 1 ^ . Tir i- y ,. t ,. i r «^

E. Dora Cogswell.





i. When old moth-er Free-dom a par - ty gave To her sons and her daugh - ters

2. Now Co-lum - bi - a's cap was of red.white, and blue, And be-came her, the dear lit - tie

3. She looked so charm-ing that night at the ball, With the lib - er - ty capon her


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bright, She cautioned them all to look their best When they visited her that night
elf! There was none oth-er like it in all the world, For Freedom had made it herself,
head, That Dame Freedom kissed her be-fore them all," You're my favorite child,"she said.

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i. 2. "O Co-lum-bi-a fair, O what will you wear? Too poor for a sty - lish

3. Then here is a cheer for the lib - er - ty cap, With its stripes of the red,white,and


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molto rail.



a tempo.

wrap !

^ -b 1 '; V

O nev - er mind, child, you will set them all wild,
May Co-lum - bi - a wear

I f you
it thro' all the long years, And her



sty - lish wrap !
red, white,and blue !







cres. e accel.

fe* N

come in your
chil - dren be

lib - er
lov - al





true !

If you
And be


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h -±







If you come,
And be true,



you come, If
be true, And


you come in your
her chil - dren be








er - ty
al and




E in America do not often see a liberty cap. That is indeed
too bad. For there could not be a prettier emblem to
grace the heads of America's boys and girls, whenever
they wish to celebrate that Freedom which is the birth-
right of every American. How straight the cap stands! With what
a free and jaunty grace it carries itself! How the ever-beautiful red,
white and blue blend in that bewitching headgear! So, may children

Don them to wear,

Doff them to cheer, — for the Flag.



Of old sat Freedom on the heights,
The thunders breaking at her feet;

Above her shook the starry lights,
She heard the torrents meet.

There in her place she did rejoice,
Self-gathered in her prophet mind,

But fragments of her mighty voice,
Came rolling on the wind.

Then stepped she down thro' town and field
To mingle with the human race,

And part by part to men revealed
The fullness of her face.

Grave mother of majestic works,
From her isle altar gazing down,

Who, godlike, grasps the triple forks,
And kinglike, wears the crown.


Her open eyes desire the truth.

The wisdom of a thousand years
Is in them. May perpetual youth

Keep dry their light from tears.

That her fair form may stand and shine,

Make bright our days and light our dreams,

Turning to scorn with lips divine
The falsehood of extremes.

— Alfred Tennyson.

All who stand beneath our banner are free. Ours is the only flag
that has in reality written upon it Liberty, Fraternity, Equality, the
three grandest words in all the languages of men. Liberty: give to
every man the fruit of his own labor, the labor of his hand and of his
brain. Fraternity: every man in the right is my brother. Equality:
the rights of all are equal. No race, no color, no previous condition,
can change the rights of men. The Declaration of Independence has at
last been carried out in letter and in spirit. To-day, the black man looks
upon his child, and says: The avenues of distinction are open to you;
upon your brow may fall the civic wreath. We are celebrating the
courage and wisdom of our fathers, and the glad shout of a free people,
the anthem of a grand nation, commencing at the Atlantic, is follow-
ing the sun to the Pacific, across a continent of happy homes. — Robert
G. Ingersoll.


Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!
I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free! Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,
And bid your tenant welcome home again.

O sacred forms, how fair, how proud you look!
How high you lift your heads into the sky!
How huge you are! how mighty, and how free!
Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile
Makes glad, whose frown is terrible; whose forms,
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear
Of awe divine! Ye guards of liberty,


I'm with you once again! I call to you
With all my voice! I hold my hands to you,
To show they still are free! I rush to you
As though I could embrace you!

Scaling yonder peak,
I saw an eagle wheeling, near its brow,
O'er the abyss. His broad expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there, without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will
That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively
I bent my bow; yet wheeled he, heeding not
The death that threatened him. I could not shoot.
'Twas liberty! I turned my bow aside,
And let him soar away.

Oh! with what pride I used
To walk these hills, look up to God,
And bless Him that 'twas free. 'Twas free!
From end to end, from cliff to lake, 'twas free!
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks,
And plough our valleys, without asking leave;
Or as our peaks that wear their caps of snow,
In very presence of the regal sun.
How happy was I then! I loved
Its very storms. Yes, I have .at and eyed
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head;
To think I had no master save his own.

Ye know the jutting cliff, round which a track
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow
To such another one, with scanty room
For two abreast to pass? O'ertaken there
By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along;
The while, gust followed gust more furiously,
As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink,
And I have thought of other lands, whose storms
Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just
Have wished me there. The thought that mine was free
Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head,
And cried in thraldom to that furious wind,
Blow on! This is a land of liberty!

— /. Sheridan Knowles.




A massive castle, far and high,

In towering grandeur broke upon my eye.
Proud in its strength and years, the ponderous pile

Flung up its time-defying towers;
Its lofty gates seemed scornfully to smile

At vain assaults of human powers,
And threats and arms deride.
Its gorgeous carvings of heraldic pride

In giant masses graced the walls above;

And dungeons yawned below.

Bursting on my steadfast gaze,

See, within, a sudden blaze!
So small at first, the zephyr's slightest swell,

That scarcely stirs the pine-tree top,

Nor makes the withered leaf to drop.
The feeble fluttering of that flame would quell.

But soon it spread,

Waving, rushing, fierce and red,

From wall to wall, from town to town,

Raging with resistless power;

Till every fervent pillar glowed,

And every stone seemed burning coal.

Beautiful, fearful, grand,

Silent as death, I saw the fabric stand.

At length a crackling sound began;

From side to side, throughout the pile it ran;

And louder yet and louder grew,

Till now in rattling thunder peals it grew;

Huge, shivered fragments from the pillars broke,

Like fiery sparkles from the anvil's stroke.

The shattered walls were rent and riven,

And piecemeal driven,

Like blazing comets through the troubled sky.

'Tis done; what centuries have reared

In quick explosion disappeared,
Nor e'en its ruins met my wondering eye.

But in their place,

Bright with more than human grace,

Robed in more than mortal seeming,
Radiant glory in her face,

And eyes with heaven's own brightness gleaming,


Rose a fair, majestic form,

As the mild rainbow from the storm.

I marked her smile, I knew her eye;

And when with gesture of command,

She waved aloft a cap-crowned wand,
My slumber fled 'mid shouts of " Liberty."

Read ye the dream? and know ye not

How truly it unlocked the world of fate?

Went not the flame from this illustrious spot,

And spread it not, and burns in every state?

And when their old and cumbrous walls,
Filled with this spirit, glow intense,
Vainly they rear their impotent defence:

The fabric falls!

That fervent energy must spread,

Till despotism's towers be overthrown,

And in their stead

Liberty stands alone.

Hasten the day, just Heaven!

Accomplish thy design,
And let the blessings thou hast freely given

Freely on all men shine,
Till equal rights be equally enjoyed,
And human power for human good employed;
Till law, not man, the sovereign rule sustain,
And peace and virtue undisputed reign.

— Henry Ware, Jr.


Dark as the clouds of even.
Ranked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dead mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land; —
So still and orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great event,
Stands the black regiment.


Down the long, dusky line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
And the bright bayonet,
Bristling and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command
Of the fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent
For the black regiment.

" Now," the flag-sergeant cried,
" Though death and hell betide,
Let the whole nation see
If we are fit to be
Free in this land; or bound
Down, like the whining hound —
Bound with red stripes of pain
In our cold chains again! "
Oh! what a shout there went
From the black regiment!

"Charge!" Trump and drum awoke;
Onward the bondmen broke;
Bayonet and sabre-stroke
Vainly opposed their rush.
Through the wild battle's crush,
With but one thought aflush,
Driving their lords like chaff,
In the guns' mouths they laugh;
Or at the slippery brands
Leaping with open hands,
Down they tear man and horse,
Down in their awful course;
Trampling with bloody heel
Over the crashing steel; —
All their eyes forward bent,
Rushed the black regiment.

"Freedom!" their battle-cry —
"Freedom! or leave to die!"
Ah! and they meant the word,
Not as with us 'tis heard,


Not a mere party shout;

They gave their spirits out,

Trusted the end to God,

And on the gory sod

Rolled in triumphant blood;

Glad to strike one free blow,
Whether for weal or woe;

Glad to breathe one free breath,
Though on the lips of death;
Praying — alas! in vain! —
That they might fall again,
So they could once more see
That burst to liberty!
This was what " freedom " lent
To the black regiment.

Hundreds on hundreds fell;
But they are resting well;
Scourges and shackles strong
Never shall do them wrong.
Oh, to the living few,
Soldiers, be just and true!
Hail them as comrades tried;
Fight with them side by side;
Never, in field or tent,
Scorn the black regiment


— George Henry Boker.


The south-land boasts its teeming cane,
The prairied west its heavy grain,
And sunset's radiant gates unfold
On rising marts and sands of gold!

Rough, bleak, and hard, our little State
Is scant of soil, of limits strait;
Her yellow sands are sands alone,
Her only mines are ice and stone!

From autumn frost to April rain,
Too long her winter woods complain;
From budding flower to falling leaf,
Her summer time is all too brief.


Yet, on her rocks, and on her sands,
And wintry hills, the school-house stands;
And what her rugged soil denies
The harvest of the mind supplies.

The riches of the commonwealth

And free, strong minds, and hearts of health;

And, more to her than gold or grain,

The running hand and cultured brain.

For well she keeps her ancient stock,
The stubborn strength of Pilgrim Rock;
And still maintains, witn milder laws
And clearer light, the good old cause!

Nor heeds the sceptic's puny hands,

While near her school the church-spire stands;

Nor fears the blinded bigot's rule,

While near her church-spire stands the school.

— John Grecnlcaf Wkittier,

W. K. W.



Music by Hamlin E. Cogswell.

Cho. Ring, ring, ring! for Tyr - an- ny is brok - en j Ring, ring, ring

— rd % — *« — 9 — L ^—

Bell of Lib - er - ty ;
Bell of Lib - er - ty ;

Ring, ring,
Ring, ring,

for man -date long since spok - en,
for Lin-coln'sword is spok - en,



-0 0-


Bell of Lib - er - ty;
meno mosso.

Ring, ring, rini
\ es\

for man-date long since spok
Fine. a tempo.



9 SI

Mak - ing Our Fa - thers for - ev - er to

Grand - ly pro- claim - ing, Ev-'ry Man is Free.

K !—. . . N >

A— P-

# t i \v

Long, long they fought with
Hard was the strife, 'twixt

-0- -0- -0-' -0- -0-


= F r r

Mak - ing Our Coun - try for - ev - er to

-N-,- I . , , , 1 fw

be free.


fs — I — JY-

:^=^z=aj— gjJ^^z^s.

cour-ageall un -daunted ; Brave -ly they sought to break oppression's chain !
gal-lant Blue and Gray; Fierce-ly they fought as on - ly Sax-ons can.

! =N^


— i — h
— i — t



In their proud
Long,long the

I I h

-a-. -0- -0-

D.C. Chorus.

eyes the pow'r of England flaunted
years that ush - ered Freedom's day,


-+ h I P F- 1

No - bly they fought their free-domdear to gain.
Tell- ing to earth that Ev-'ry Man'sa Man.

the pul
to all t


HAT boy or girl is there in all this broad land who
does not know the story of the wonderful old
Liberty Bell; how it rang out the glorious tid-
ings of the adoption of the Declaration of In-
dependence? How this message came down
from the steeple as though sent from the skies
to the eager and cheering crowds in the streets
of Philadelphia? How the bell, now old and
cracked, bears upon its surface those words
which can never be uttered without stirring

se of every patriot, " Proclaim Liberty throughout all the land

he inhabitants thereof."



There was tumult in the city,

In the quaint old Quaker's town,—
And the streets were rife with people,

Pacing, restless, up and down; —
People, gathering at corners,

Where they whispered, each to each,
And the sweat stood on their temples,

With the earnestness of speech.

As the bleak Atlantic currents

Lash the wild Newfoundland shore,
So they beat against the State House,—

So they surged against the door;
And the mingling of their voices

Made a harmony profound.
Till the quiet street of Chestnut

Was all turbulent with sound.



"Will they do it?" — "Dare they do it?" —

"Who is speaking?" — "What's the news?'*-
"What of Adams?" — " What of Sherman?" —

"Oh, God grant they won't refuse!" —
" Make some way there! " — " Let me nearer! " -

"I am stifling!" — " Stifle, then!
When a nation's life's at hazard,

We've no time to think of men!"

So they beat against the portal,

Man and woman, maid and child;
And the July sun in heaven

On the scene looked down and smiled;
The same sun that saw the Spartan

Shed his patriot blood in vain,
Now beheld the soul of Freedom,

All unconquered, rise again.

See! See! The dense crowd quivers

Through all its lengthy line,
As the boy beside the portal

Looks forth to give the sign!
With his small hands upward lifted,

Breezes dallying with his hair,
Hark! with deep, clear intonation,
Breaks his young voice on the air.

Hushed the people's swelling murmur,

List the boy's strong, joyous cry!
"Ring!" he shouts, "Ring! Grandpa,

Ring! Oh, Ring for Liberty!"
And, straightway, at the signal,

The old bellman lifts his hand,
And sends the good news, making

Iron music through the land.

How they shouted! What rejoicing!

How the old bell shook the air,
Till the clang of Freedom ruffled

The calm, gliding Delaware!
How the bonfires and the torches

Illumed the night's repose,
And from the flames, like Phoenix,

Fair Liberty arose!


That old bell now is silent,

And hushed its iron tongue,
But the spirit it awakened

Still lives, — forever young.
And, while we greet the sunlight,

On the fourth of each July,
We'll ne'er forget the bellman,

Who, 'twixt the earth and sky,
Rung out Our Independence;

Which, please God, shall never die!


In some strange land and time, — for so the story runs, — they
were about to found a bell for a mighty tower, — a hollow, starless
heaven of iron.

It should toll for dead monarchs, "The king is dead;" and it
should make glad clamor for the new prince, " Long live the king! "
It should proclaim so great a passion, or so grand a pride, that either
would be worshipped; or, wanting these, forever hold its peace. Now,
this bell was not to be dug out of the cold mountain; it was to be made
of something that had been warmed with a human touch, or loved
with a human love.

And so the people came like pilgrims to a shrine, and cast their
offerings into the furnace.

By and by, the bell was alone in its chamber; and its four windows
looked out to the four quarters of heaven. For many a day it hung

The winds came and went, but they only set it sighing; birds came
and sang under its eaves, but it was an iron horizon of dead melody
still. All the meaner strifes and passions of men rippled on below it;
they out-grouped the ants; they out-wrought the bees; they out-
watched the shepherds of Chaldea; but the chamber of the bell was as
dumb as the cave of Machpelah.

At last there came a time when men grew grand for Right and
Truth, and stood shoulder to shoulder over all the land, and went down
like reapers to the harvest of death; looked into the graves of them




that slept, and believed there was something grander than living;
glanced on into the far future, and discerned there was something
better than dying; and so, standing between the quick and the dead,
they quitted themselves like men.

Then the bell awoke in its chamber; and the great wave of its
music rolled gloriously out, and broke along the blue walls of the
world like an anthem. Poured into that fiery heat together, the
humblest gifts were blent in one great wealth, and accents feeble as a
sparrow's song grew eloquent and strong; and lo! a people's stately soul
heaved on the waves of a mighty voice.

We thank God, in this our day, for the furnace and the fire; for the
good sword and the true word; for the great triumph and the little

By the memory of the Ramah into which war has turned the land,
for the love of the Rachels now lamenting within it, for the honor of
Heaven and the hope of mankind, let us who stand here, past and
present clasping hands over our heads, the broad age dwindled to a.
line under our feet, and ridged with the graves of dead martyrs; let us
declare before God and these witnesses, — " We will finish the Work
that the Fathers began." — B. F. Taylor.


fT may seem strange to call upon the boys and girls of the
Empire State to celebrate the sword — the instrument
by which, in days gone by, in our own land, thousands
have been slain. For the Sword here stands for muskets,
bayonets, guns — small and great — and every sort of
weapon by which brave men have lost their lives in bat-
tle. In other words, it stands for War, with all its cruelties and horrors.
And yet, there come times in the history of every people when they
must draw the sword, or perish. Bad as war always is, slavery is
worse, the loss of freedom is worse. That is why the American colo-
nists, armed with old-fashioned flint-lock muskets, stood so bravely
against the attacks of the British redcoats; that is why

" The farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and barnyard wall."

Yes, and more than that: At first the colonists were anxious
merely to secure such rights as they thought were fairly theirs under
the British government; but soon and fast grew the wish for Inde-
pendence — the gift of God to all men. Now, was it not worth while
to fight in such a cause and to gain such a priceless thing? Let other
examples be recalled, and let us not be afraid to rejoice over all true
victories won by The Sword.


Americans need to keep in mind the fact that as a nation they
have erred far more often in not being willing to fight than in being
too willing. Once roused, our countrymen have always been danger-
ous and hard-fighting foes, but they have been over-difficult to rouse.
The educated classes in particular need to be perpetually reminded that,



though it is an evil thing to brave a conflict needlessly, or to bully and
bluster, it is an even worse thing to flinch from a fight for which there
is legitimate provocation.

xA-merica is bound scrupulously to respect the rights of the weak,
but she is no less bound to make stalwart insistence on her own rights
as against the strong. — Gov. Theodore Roosevelt.


Out of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.
And there was tumult in the air,

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat,
And through the wide land everywhere

The answering tread of hurrying feet;
While the first oath of Freedom's gun
Came on the blast from Lexington;
And Concord roused, no longer tame,
Forgot her old baptismal name,
Made bare her patriot arm of power,
And swelled the discord of the hour.

Within its shade of elm and oak

The church of Berkeley Manor stood;
There Sunday found the rural folk.

And some esteemed of gentle blood.

In vain their feet with loitering tread
Passed 'mid the graves where rank is naught;
All could not read the lesson taught

In that republic of the dead.

The pastor came; his snowy locks

Hallowed his brow of thought and care;

And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer.

The pastor rose; the prayer was strong;

The psalm was warrior David's song;

The text, a few short words of might,

" The Lord of hosts shall arm the right! "


He spoke of wrongs too long endured,
Of sacred rights to be secured;
Then from his patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake
Compelled the heart to glow or quake;
And, rising on his theme's broad wing,

And grasping in his nervous hand

The imaginary battle brand,
In face of death he dared to fling
Defiance to a tyrant king.

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed
In eloquence of attitude.
Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher;
Then swept his kindling glance of fire
From startled pew to breathless choir;
When suddenly his mantle wide
His hands impatient flung aside,
And lo! he met their wondering eyes,
Complete, in all a warrior's guise.

A moment there was awful pause.

When Berkeley cried, " Cease, traitor! cease,

God's temple is the house of peace! "

The other shouted, " Nay, not so!
When God is with our righteous cause
His holiest places, then, are ours,
His temples are our forts and towers,

That frown upon the tyrant foe;
In this, the dawn of Freedom's day,
There is a time to fight and pray! "

And now before the open door,

The warrior priest had ordered so,

The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar

Rang through the chapel o'er and o'er,
Its long reverberating blow,

So loud and clear, it seemed the ear

Of dusty death must wake and hear.

And there the startling drum and fife

Fired the living with fiercer life;



While overhead, with wild increase,
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace,

The great bell swung as ne'er before;
It seemed as it would never cease;
And every word its ardor flung
From off its jubilant iron tongue

Was, "War! War! War!"

"Who dares?' this was the patriot's cry,

Online LibraryCharles Rufus SkinnerManual of patriotism : for use in the public schools of the State of New York → online text (page 7 of 31)