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Now gold hath sway; we all obey
And a ruthless king is he;
But he never shall send our ancient friend
To be tost on the stormy sea.
--
The brave old Oak (lyrics, 1837).

 

Henry Fothergill Chorley

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But grant to kings and courts their ancient play,
Recall their splendour and revive their sway;
Can all your cant and all your cries persuade
One power to join you in your wild crusade?
In vain ye search to earth's remotest end;
No court can aid you, and no king defend.

 

Joel Barlow

 

For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophet-bards foretold,
When with the ever-circling years,
Comes round the age of gold;
When Peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.

 

Edmund Sears

 

There is no god but God. He is One. Praise be to God, Who hath not taken unto Himself a son, and Who hath no partner in the Sovereignty, nor hath He any protecting friend through dependence.

 

Jesus Christ

 

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

 

Emma Lazarus

 

There is at least a punky spark in my heart and it may blaze in this autumn gold, fanned by the King. Some of my grandfathers must have been born on a muirland for there is heather in me, and tinctures of bog juices, that send me to Cassiope, and oozing through all my veins impel me unhaltingly through endless glacier meadows, seemingly the deeper and danker the better.

 

John Muir