Today is the anniversary of the 1807 birth of the great American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from whose poetry we can draw lessons on patriotism and perseverance today.
The outlook for America is brighter now than it has been in over four years, but Donald Trump still has a Herculean task ahead. Furthermore, if we would see America restored, we cannot rely solely on our government — each one of us has a part to play in the political, social, religious, and economic reform that needs to occur. While our own situation is in many ways unique and requires some original solutions, we can also look to the heroes of our past for inspiration.
One of Longfellow’s most famous poems is “Paul Revere’s Ride,” commemorating the history-making gallop of Sons of Liberty William Dawes and Paul Revere to warn neighboring Massachusetts towns that the British soldiers were coming to seize weapons (amazing how tyrants always start with gun control). Dawes was a tanner and Revere a silversmith, the sort of men despised or overlooked by the arrogant aristocrats who led the British Parliament and army. But the Sons of Liberty understood that if they didn’t take charge of their future and fight for liberty, they couldn’t depend on anyone else to do it for them.
That is the spirit of individual responsibility and quick-thinking initiative that made this country independent and prosperous, the leader of the world. And Longfellow believed that always, even in the darkest times, patriots would heed the call to fight for freedom. Will we justify that belief?
So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
Another magnificent poem of Longfellow’s is “Excelsior!” It tells the tale of a youth who determines to climb snowy Alpine peaks in spite of the weather, the villagers, and any other obstacles to success. Far up in the heights, he dies, but he is beautiful and peaceful in death. He achieved what he meant to achieve, he attained greatness.
Related: Iwo Jima and WWII Marine Heroes
We all hope, of course, that we will not have to die in our quest to secure freedom for ourselves and others, but some of us will die. Others will sacrifice money, jobs, friends, or family. Some will go to jail, like the J6ers and pro-lifers. This is not meant to be gloomy but to remind us to be grateful to our forebears who sacrificed everything and also to remind us we cannot be intimidated. The endless lawfare and assassination attempts didn’t stop Trump from reaching the White House again. Nor will we be stopped by similar corruption.
Let us be like the youth in Longfellow’s poem who went excelsior, “ever higher”:
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast! "
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell like a falling star,
Excelsior!
