This is the land where hate should die—

      No feuds of faith, no spleen of race,

      No darkly brooding fear should try

      Beneath our flag to find a place.

      Lo! every people here has sent

      Its sons to answer freedom's call,

      Their lifeblood is the strong cement

      That builds and binds the nation's wall.

      This is the land where hate should die—

      Though dear to me my faith and shrine,

      I serve my country when I

      Respect the creeds that are not mine.

      He little loves his land who'd cast

      Upon his neighbor's word a doubt,

      Or cite the wrongs of ages past

      From present rights to bar him out.

      This is the land where hate should die—

      This is the land where strife should cease,

      Where foul, suspicious fear should fly

      Before the light of love and peace.

      Then let us purge from poisoned thought

      That service to the state we give,

      And so be worthy as we ought

      Of this great land in which we live.

      'Twas a stylish congregation, that of Theophrastus Brown,

      And its organ was the finest and the biggest in the town,

      And the chorus—all the papers favorably commented on it,

      For 'twas said each female member had a forty-dollar bonnet.

      Now in the "amen corner" of the church sat Brother Eyer,

      Who persisted every Sabbath-day in singing with the choir;

      He was poor but genteel-looking, and his heart as snow was white,

      And his old face beamed with sweetness when he sang with all his might.

      His voice was cracked and broken, age had touched his vocal chords,

      And nearly every Sunday he would mispronounce the words

      Of the hymns, and 'twas no wonder, he was old and nearly blind,

      And the choir rattling onward always left him far behind.

      The chorus stormed and blustered, Brother Eyer sang too slow,

      And then he used the tunes in vogue a hundred years ago;

      At last the storm-cloud burst, and the church was told, in fine,

      That the brother must stop singing, or the choir would resign.

      Then the pastor called together in the vestry-room one day

      Seven influential members who subscribe more than they pay,

      And having asked God's guidance in a printed pray'r or two,

      They put their heads together to determine what to do.

      They debated, thought, suggested, till at last "dear Brother York,"

      Who last winter made a million on a sudden rise in pork,

      Rose and moved that a committee wait at once on Brother Eyer,

      And proceed to rake him lively "for disturbin' of the choir."

      Said he: "In that 'ere organ I've invested quite a pile,

      And we'll sell it if we cannot worship in the latest style;

      Our Philadelphy tenor tells me 'tis the hardest thing

      Fer to make God understand him when the brother tries to sing.

      "We've got the biggest organ, the best-dressed choir in town,

      We pay the steepest sal'ry to our pastor, Brother Brown;

      But if we must humor ignorance because it's blind and old—

      If the choir's to be pestered, I will seek another fold."

      Of course the motion carried, and one day a coach and four,

      With the latest style of driver, rattled up to Eyer's door;

      And the sleek, well-dress'd committee, Brothers Sharkey, York and Lamb,

      As they crossed the humble portal took good care to miss the jamb.

      They found the choir's great trouble sitting in his old arm chair,

      And the Summer's golden sunbeams lay upon his thin white hair;

      He was singing "Rock of Ages" in a cracked voice and low

      But the angels understood him, 'twas all he cared to know.

      Said York: "We're here, dear brother, with the vestry's approbation

      To discuss a little matter that affects the congregation";

      "And the choir, too," said Sharkey, giving Brother York a nudge,

      "And the choir, too!" he echoed with the graveness of a judge.

      "It was the understanding when we bargained for the chorus

      That it was to relieve us, that is, do the singing for us;

      If we rupture the agreement, it is very plain, dear brother,

      It will leave our congregation and be gobbled by another.

      "We don't want any singing except that what we've bought!

      The latest tunes are all the rage; the old ones stand for naught;

      And so we have decided—are you list'ning, Brother Eyer?—

      That you'll have to stop your singin' for