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Proceedings of the Fourth Congress at Atlanta, GA., April 28 to May 1, 1892
Shamrock and Thistle, a poem. By Mr. Major Charles Hubner, of Atlanta, Ga.


The Shamrock and the Thistle—
A pleasant task is mine,
Here, in their praise and honor,
A wreath of song to twine;

I deem them dearer, deeper
In their significance
Than the proud rose of England
Or lily-flower of France.

Beyond your beaming faces,
Your kind eyes bent on me,
A vision, fair and glorious,
To-night, I seem to see:

O'er thousand leagues of billows,
It glimmers on my view,
As when a star at twilight,
Swims out into the Blue.

This Vision of the ocean
That, starlike, shines on me,
Is Erin-isle of Beauty,
Crown-jewel of the sea;

Beside her, twin in glory,
Like her with beauty zoned,
Proud Scotia towers heavenward,
Upon her mountains throned;

Far, faint, mysterious voices,
In chorus sweet and clear,
Across the wandering waters,
Float on my dreaming ear.

From out most ancient ages,
And hoariest fanes of time,
They come, their mingling measures,
Weaving a song sublime!

Voices of bards and minstrels,
Who sang when Time was young;
Voices of saints and sages,
Who spake with golden tongue;

Voices of kings and warriors,
Whose swords a world defied;
Voices of men who grandly
For faith or freedom died;

These, like soft music stealing
From some high minster's chimes,
Temper the strident voices
Of louder, later times;

'Tis Scotia's voice, and Erin's,
That I to-night have hoard;
I—touching them while dreaming—
Their harps of glory stirred,

And from the dust of ages,
Faint echoes back there came,
From sacred strings, where slumber
Their glory and their fame.

My Scotia! and my Erin!
Your might, in ancient days,
The world reveres and honors,
And lauds in lofty lays;

Yet, not in least forgetting
Your splendors, old as time,
Are not to-day your glories
As splendid, as sublime?

Wherever Truth her boldest,
Her wisest champion needs,
A Scotchman on her altars
The flaming god-fire feeds;

"Wherever Freedom, doubtful,
Her loyal hearts would test,
She finds the warmest, truest
Beat in an Irish breast!

By the same spirit quickened,
Your sons, where'er they be,
Stand, by God's hand anointed,
For Truth and Liberty;

Fighting their glorious battles,
Like heroes, man to man,
And in the march of nations,
Leading the foremost van.

In hand and heart united,
Heaven seal your sacred troth!
The shamrock and the thistle-
God's blessing on you both.


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