She looks so lonely as she stands
High o’er the river’s spread,
She gazes toward the city’s heights,
A solemn gaze, and dead.
Her torch’s frozen burst of gold
Gleams in a lightless sky,
Her upraised arm ne’er seems to tire,
Though all her fire should die.
Her children gathered round her feet
Snap shots and call her name,
Yet scarcely know how her book reads
Nor tend her flickering flame.
Her right foot is upraised behind
As if she would advance,
She’d take back all her land if she
Could break her rigid stance.
But helpless she, no strength nor life
In all her copper bone;
O God! Behold her agony,
And leave her not alone!
O Lady o’er the river high,
My zeal and confidence
Is less than it was for that land
Your figure represents.
But cease ye not to lift your torch,
And lift your eyes to Him
Who kindled bright your sparkling flame
From slav’ry vile and dim.
Gaze no more on the city’s shores,
These empty lands of men;
Look humbly up to your one King
To make them free again.
My confidence may burn less bright,
My love does not, nor will:
Your King gave life-blood for your land;
Be sure He loves it still.
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