AMERICA(By Frances Goggin Maltby)America, so broad, so rich, so ^eat,We love thy freedom, we adore thy state!Do birds sing sweeter beneath other skies?Are other nations more merciful, more wise?Hath ever brighter sunshlno met your glance,In “Merry England” or in “Sunny France?”(Thus hath we oft times writ in days agone.How will that ballad read to those unborn?)Poor “Merry England” with her harrowed heart,A melancholy burden is her part;And “Sunny France;” alas! the sun stands stillO’er her fair land while gapping trenches fill.Machines of death make of fair France a tomb . sWhat boots the sun? It cannot lift tho gloom.Look then once more upon our land; shall woThe victims, too, of unpreparedncss be?No, no. Kise up, make ready for the fight—For Liberty is known by her great light!Machines of death, God grant we may not see,But we must face this menace on the sea.