There came a day when all the western land
Lay claimed beneath the Andes and the Main;
And on the eastern shore there still remained
A battered people few would understand.
The old flag stirred though torn by wind and hand,
And still they spoke the republic's patient name;
Not gold nor glory fed the fading flame,
But common hearts that chose again to stand.
Here was no conqueror's trumpet, no great height
Of marble glory — only the decree
Of weathered hands that would not yield the past.
From sea to darkened sea they held the light;
And what the strong had called their victory
Broke on the quiet of those who held it last.
- written by thegoldenhand, a real, human player
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