The harp of the minstrel with melody rings

When the Muses have taught him to touch and to tune it;

But though it may have a full octave of strings,

To both maker and minstrel the harp is a unit.

So the power that creates our republic of States,

Into harmony brings them at different dates;

And the thirteen or thirty, the Union once done,

Are “E Pluribus Unum”—of many made one.

The science that weighs in her balance the spheres,

And watched them since first the Chaldean began it,

Now and then, as she counts them and measures their years,

Brings into our system and names a new planet.

Yet the old and new stars—Venus, Neptune and Mars,

As they drive round the sun their invisible cars,

Whether faster or slower their races they run,

Are “E Pluribus Unum”—of many made one.

Of that system of spheres, should but one fly the track,

Or with others conspire for a general dispersion,

By the great central orb they would all be brought back,

And held, each in her place, by a wholesome coercion.

Should one daughter of light be indulged in her flight,

They would all be engulfed by old Chaos and Night;

So must none of our sisters be suffered to run,

For, “E Pluribus Unum”—we all go if one.

Let the demon of discord our melody mar,

Or Treason’s red hand rend our Union asunder,

Break one string from our harp, or extinguish one star,

The whole system’s ablaze with its lightning and thunder.

Let the discord be hushed! Let the traitors be crushed!

Though “Legion” their name, all with victory flushed!

For aye must our motto stand, fronting the sun:

“E Pluribus Unum”—Though many, we’re ONE.