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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required —Per Ignem Civium— Not for the tremor of an hour— nor for the rumour of a declining sun— but where a nation recollects its primal breath. Empires, like great tides, withdraw to gather; and the world, misconstruing pause for peril, utters its prophecies. Yet there abides— not in the eye that inventories dominion, but in that inward faculty which survives the ruin of surfaces— the hand unyielding at Valley Forge, the voice that would not fracture at Gettysburg Address, and that anonymous endurance by which a people becomes itself. Not accident— but long obedience. And now, when the stars are counted as though they were few— they kindle elsewhere. In the obscure fidelities of men and women, in refusal, continuance, the kept word— each life a point of fire no dark can take. A nation endures where one conscience burns. O say, can you see— not by the dawn’s early light alone— how that dispersed brightness coheres, till even doubt must break and, breaking, name it: the land of the free and the home of the brave. Then silence— I beheld (not borne by wind, but by a multitude of vows) a flag sustained from within: each star a living centre, each thread a bond no hand could sever, and the firmament itself inclining— as if that which men call a nation were but the outward sign of an interior, deathless consent, which, once kindled, admits no empire and requires no time. So it stands— not as dominion, but as measure— while time relinquishes all question.
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