Wherever an American goes in the world, he should go with the feeling that his own country is the best in the world. [CHEEVER.]
The best! yea best, save one foul blot,
One stain upon her history's pagers,
One dark disgrace! O tell it not,
To blight her name in future ages.
And tell it not amid the halls
That echo to a Tyrant's tread,
Where vassals wait for lordly calls,
With trembling and obsequious dread.
Where grandeur's castles frowning stand
Upon the peasant's lowly cot,
Where want unnerves the strongest hand --
Amid such scenes, O tell it not.
That o'er our "Free" and "Happy" land,
Oppression wields her iron sway,
And waves her dark and loathsome wand
To cloud our country's brightest day.
And shall she hold her ruthless reign
Long, o'er a land so dearly bought?
With all her miseries in her train?
To crush her power our fathers fought.
And shall we yield the mede they won?
No, no, the gale we'll proudly breast,
Until this glorious work be done,
The boast our country is the best.
Battle Creek, April 1, 1848. CORA.