Summer Meyers

“-Let America Be America Again-

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!”
― Langston Hughes, Let America be America Again and Other Poems

“Oh! God, my only trust went there
Through all life's scenes before
Lo! At the throne again I bow,
New mercies to implore.

Grant active power, grant fervent zeal,
And guide by thy control,
And ever be my country's weal
The purpose of my soul.

Extend, all seeing God, thy hand
In memory still decree
And make, to bless thy native land
An instrument of me.
-September 21, 1817”
― John Quincy Adams, The Diary of John Quincy Adams 1794-1845

“Beauty is not superficial, or "mere", or a luxury. Beauty is the birthright of living beings. Imagine the unrelieved drudgery of a life without beauty. Subtract beauty, then consider all the grim imperatives and demands of finding food and shelter, competing, procreating; who would want to bother? Emerson wrote, "He thought it happier to be dead / To die for beauty, than live for bread." Beauty is the thing that makes life worth the time it takes. Beauty makes life worth the effort, the risks and the frights and the struggles that being alive requires. Beauty is the reward the frights and the struggles that being alive requires. Beauty is the reward our brains give us for making the effort to stay in the world. Beauty is what eases that effort into joy. Beauty makes our smiles, and gets us past the tears. I think it's that profound, that fundamental. I think that is what all beauties have in common, from the sight of a macaw and the song of a thrush to the deliciousness of good food, the touch of a loved one, or the fidgets of someone small who needs their diaper changed. So maybe we could write, "She found it happier to be here / To walk in beauty, than shrink in fear." Beauty makes us love what it takes to live.”
― Carl Safina, Becoming Wild: How Animals Learn Who They Are

“How pointless all human thoughts, words and deeds must be, if things like this are possible! Everything must have been fraudulent and pointless if thousands of years of civilization weren’t even able to prevent this river of blood, couldn’t stop these torture chambers existing in their hundreds of thousands. Only a military hospital can really show you what war is.”
― Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front