William Ross Wallace

The Live American

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I am a live American,
Life’s morning on my breast;
In action, action is my Heaven,
But Tophet is in rest.
I grapple savage Nature’s mane,
And make her to me bow,
While the iron Trump of Action storms
In thunder o’er my brow—
Push along, push along, keep moving!

I crave no other nation’s land;
It must not crave for mine:
If it invades, here is my sword,
And yonder yawns the brine.
So, let alone, the sooner all
The elements niust bow,
While the iron Trump of Action storms
In thunder o’er my brow—
Push along, push along, keep moving!

But not for merely matter’s wealth
I’m conquering the zone;
No! ‘tis that Science, Letters, Art,
Shall share my mighty throne:
And yet unto their coronals
Must all the nations bow,
While the iron Trump of Action storms
In thunder o’er my brow—
Push along, push along, keep moving!
The lightning is the pen of God
On yonder sky for me:
It writes, so all the world may read,
“Forevermore Be Free!“
Niagara answers the command,
“To Mortal Never Bow1”
While the iron Trump of Action storms
In thunder o’er my brow—
Push along, push along, keep moving!

Oh, how divine, how last my Creed!
Earth, heaven, own its span:
‘Tis rainbow-arched belief in God,
And, also, faith in man.
This is the Creed that’s bound to make
The king-brasphemers bow,
While the iron Trump of Action storms
In thunder o’er my brow—
Push along, push along, keep moving!

Oh, welcome to this New World’s life!
Nor shall I slower sweep
Till Nature’s mane is ~vreathed with flowers
On every conquered steep.
Then I, perhaps, will yearn to make
Some other planet bow,
While still the Trump of Action storms
In thunder o’er my brow—
Push along, push along, keep moving!

The lightning is the pen of God
On yonder sky for me:
It writes, so all the world may read,
"Forevermore Be Free!"
Niagara answers the command,
"To Mortal Never Bow!"
While the iron Trump of Action storms
In thunder o'er my brow--
Push along, push along, keep moving!

Oh, how divine, how vast my Creed!
Earth, Heaven, own its span:
'Tis rainbow-arched belief in God,
And also, faith in man.
This is the Creed that's bound to make
The king-blasphemers bow,
While the iron Trump of Action storms
In thunder o'er my brow--
Push along, push along, keep moving!

Oh welcome to this New World's life!
Nor shall I slower sweep,
Till Nature's mane is wreathed with flowers
On every conquered steep.
Then I, perhaps, will yearn to make
Some other planet bow,
While still the iron Trump of Action storms
In thunder o'er my brow--
Push along, push along, keep moving!

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William Ross Wallace