The Audacity of Hope

The Audacity of Hope
Christopher Bogart

For the young sailor whose chin rests on the rough wood rail
Below the full sails of the Mayflower, the setting sun at his back,
Looking toward the future for the dawn of a new day, a new world.

For the patriot whose faith trumps fear, clutching his rifle near,
As he gazes across the morning mists of Lexington and Concord,
And dares to believe that he will one day call himself American.

For the black slave who sits on the splintered steps of a wooden shack,
Smoke rising from hearth fires and the remains of the meager meal,
And clasps his calloused hands together, daring to pray for his deliverance.

For the immigrant whose hands clasp the cold metal rail of the transport ship,
His family gathered around him, their eyes staring at the Lady of the Harbor
As she holds her torch aloft, promising them entrance into the golden door.

For the soldier on the fields of Europe, of Africa, of the Middle East and the Far East,
Who gazes out over the fields of conflict, and holds within his heart, the well-won
Ideal that his actions this day will keep the aggressor at bay, and guarantee our freedom.

For the welder, the bricklayer, the fireman, the teacher, the politician and the poet,
Who work, day by day, to fulfill the Declaration made so long ago, for all who hoped
That our new land would be a beacon of hope for all who chose to dream their dream,
For black as well as white,
For yellow, red and brown,
For the old and the young,
That this world will be better than the last,
That this cause will be worth the sacrifice,
That this life will be lived in liberty,
And that the pursuit of happiness be guaranteed
For all who have
The audacity to hope.