Margaret Chanler Aldrich

ACROSS the land their long lines pass;

More souls come to us sun by sun,

Each ship a city as she rides,

Than manned the march of Washington.

From ancient states where burthens lie

Extortionate upon the poor,

Men rise like flocks from leafless woods,

Then flight a shadow at our door.

A shadow passing life by life

Into the morrow of our race;

What know we of the unseen minds?

These hands have riches we embrace.

What common thought so many moves?

Our laws with Liberty are brave;

Beneath them men will take content

A wage, a lodging, and a grave.

Strange to each other as to us,

The races of the world are ours;

No sleepless frontiers here impede

A secret ballot’s sacred powers.

Ye patient aliens! Sifting in

Where trades a fateful welcome burn,

Bequeath your children what you find—

A land to which all peoples turn.