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| WITH clearer light, Cross of the South, shine forth | |
| In blue Brazilian skies; | |
| And thou, O river, cleaving half the earth | |
| From sunset to sunrise, | |
| From the great mountains to the Atlantic waves | 5 |
| Thy joys long anthem pour. | |
| Yet a few days (God make them less!) and slaves | |
| Shall shame thy pride no more. | |
| No fettered feet thy shaded margins press; | |
| But all men shall walk free | 10 |
| Where thou, the high-priest of the wilderness, | |
| Hast wedded sea to sea. | |
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| And thou, great-hearted ruler, through whose mouth | |
| The word of God is said, | |
| Once more, Let there be light!Son of the South, | 15 |
| Lift up thy honored head, | |
| Wear unashamed a crown by thy desert | |
| More than by birth thy own, | |
| Careless of watch and ward; thou art begirt | |
| By grateful hearts alone. | 20 |
| The moated wall and battle-ship may fail, | |
| But safe shall justice prove; | |
| Stronger than greaves of brass or iron mail | |
| The panoply of love. | |
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| Crowned doubly by mans blessing and Gods grace, | 25 |
| Thy future is secure; | |
| Who frees a people makes his statues place | |
| In Times Valhalla sure. | |
| Lo! from his Nevas banks the Scythian Czar | |
| Stretches to thee his hand, | 30 |
| Who, with the pencil of the Northern star, | |
| Wrote freedom on his land. | |
| And he whose grave is holy by our calm | |
| And prairied Sangamon, | |
| From his gaunt hand shall drop the martyrs palm | 35 |
| To greet thee with Well done! | |
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| And thou, O Earth, with smiles thy face make sweet, | |
| And let thy wail be stilled, | |
| To hear the Muse of prophecy repeat | |
| Her promise half fulfilled. | 40 |
| The Voice that spake at Nazareth speaks still, | |
| No sound thereof hath died; | |
| Alike thy hope and Heavens eternal will | |
| Shall yet be satisfied. | |
| The years are slow, the vision tarrieth long, | 45 |
| And far the end may be; | |
| But, one by one, the fiends of ancient wrong | |
| Go out and leave thee free. | |
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