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Poem	TURN, O Libertad, for the war is over, (From it and all henceforth expanding, doubting no more, resolute, sweeping the world,) Turn from lands retrospective, recording proofs of the past; From the singers that sing the trailing glories of the past; From the chants of the feudal world—the triumphs of kings, slavery, caste; Turn to the world, the triumphs reserv’d and to come—give up that backward world; Leave to the singers of hitherto—give them the trailing past; But what remains, remains for singers for you—wars to come are for you; (Lo! how the wars of the past have duly inured to you—and the wars of the present also inure:) —Then turn, and be not alarm’d, O Libertad—turn your undying face, To where the future, greater than all the past, Is swiftly, surely preparing for you.
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