Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ISLANDS OF THE SEA, by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ISLANDS OF THE SEA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: God is shaping the great future of the island
Last Line: Whose dread commands o'er awe-struck lands are borne on eagle's wings.
Subject(s): Philippines


GOD is shaping the great future of the Islands of the Sea;
He has sown the blood of martyrs and the fruit is liberty;
In thick clouds and in darkness He has sent abroad His word;
He has given a haughty nation to the cannon and the sword.

He has seen a people moaning in the thousand deaths they die;
He has heard from child and woman a terrible dark cry;
He has given the wasted talent of the steward faithless found
To the youngest of the nations with His abundance crowned.

He called her to do justice where none but she had power;
He called her to do mercy to her neighbor at the door;
He called her to do vengeance for her own sons foully dead;
Thrice did He call unto her ere she inclined her head.

She has gathered the vast Midland, she has searched her borders round;
There has been a mighty hosting of her children on the ground;
Her search-lights lie along the sea, her guns are loud on land;
To do her will upon the earth her armies round her stand.

The fleet, at her commandment, to either ocean turns;
Belted around the mighty world her line of battle burns;
She has loosed the hot volcanoes of the ships of flaming hell;
With fire and smoke and earthquake shock her heavy vengeance fell.

O joyfullest May morning when before our guns went down
The Inquisition priesthood and the dungeon-making crown,
While through red lights of battle our starry dawn burst out,
Swift as the tropic sunrise that doth with glory shout!

Be jubilant, free Cuba, our feet are on thy soil;
Up mountain road, through jungle growth, our bravest for thee toil;
There is no blood so precious as their wounds pour forth for thee;
Sweet be thy joys, free Cuba, -- sorrows have made thee free.

Nor Thou, O noble Nation, who wast so slow to wrath,
With grief too heavy-laden follow in duty's path;
Not for ourselves our lives are; not for Thyself art Thou;
The Star of Christian Ages is shining on Thy brow.

Rejoice, O mighty Mother, that God hath chosen Thee
To be the western warder of the Islands of the Sea;
He lifteth up, He casteth down, He is the King of Kings,
Whose dread commands o'er awe-struck lands are borne on eagle's wings.





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