We stand to-day on Yorktown field,
Where Britain laid her banner down,
Where tyranny to freedom kneeled,
And dropped the jewels from her crown.

We gather here from every land,
With offerings brought from near and far,
Like men of old—the Eastern band—
Led onward by the Western star.

We meet around an humble shrine,
We mark the spot with graven stone,
A trophy to that Right Divine
Whereby to manhood we have grown.

Our hundred years of youth have passed,
With deeds that prove the Nation brave,
And strife and jealousy at last
Lie buried in one common grave.

One flag floats over all the land,
One sentiment thrills every heart;
No foreign foe, no factions band,
The land we love shall ever part.

The past is sure, the future waits;
The years with enterprise are rife;
With hope the century celebrates
The birthday of a nation's life.

We measure time by glorious deeds;
All history is simply this:
It skips the years; it merely reads
From Marathon to Salamis.

We gather courage from the past,
And from heroic pages learn:
Triumphant freedom finds at last
A Runnymede or Bannockburn.

Ay, every struggle to be free
'Gainst courtly craft and regal might,
Preserves the line of liberty,
And keeps her armor clean and bright.

The sceptre and the diadem
In ev'ry land shall lose their power,
Freedom's the only flawless gem,
And equal rights the people's dower.

The diamond in the monarch's crown
Is crystallized from peasants' tears;
The purple of his royal gown
Betokens blood of bitter years.

The scaffold stairs which Sidney trod
Led from the dungeon to the sky;
The tyrant sways a feeble rod
When patriots dare to do and die.

Grander the manger than the throne;
“Free hearts and hands,” the poet sings;
Freedom and faith, and these alone,
“The grace of God,” but not of kings.