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This was the American Spirit:
An echo so loud no one could hear it.
A land that fought hard to stand proud and stand free.
A land, under God, indivisible, strong for all the world to see.
This was the American Zeal:
A blow so hard it could heal.
A land crying for the tired and the poor,
A cry that no nation could quite ignore.
She raised up these, her swaddled babes,
So they might grow good, and strong, and brave.
And time and again, her brood did grow strong
So that, through these years, her arm has grown long.
This was the American Dream:
To prove that a vision is not actually seen
In the mind of a person, but as a solid thing
As a cry in the dark, calling ‘Let freedom ring!’
Oh! Can’t you feel the old ones? Can’t you even hear?
Those people all long gone, yet leaving traces still here.
This was the American Heart:
A bold, righteous anger that set her apart.
At least, that is the way it once has been
And, I pray, someday it will be so again.
But America now is an enormous mess
Since ideas like honor, grace, integrity are held in duress,
For how can such things exist with no absolute truth?
It’s like a hall of elders who never knew youth.
We live in a land founded on Christian ideals,
But now the people say that God simply is not real.
We can speak of Buddha, Confucius, Darwin, and them,
But we dare not tell of Jesus, we must not offend.
We live in a land with ‘separation of church and state’
Where a crucifix is frowned upon, but a pentagram is great.
We cry for peace with open enemies, and then lock our doors;
Trust those who hate us, but not the guy next door.
Are we blind to this flagrant, fetid hypocrisy?
Or do we avert our eyes and pretend to be
Neither aid nor ado, set in between to just observe, to hear it?
No longer can I stand as such, I yearn for that old American Spirit.

Description
This was the American Spirit:
An echo so loud no one could hear it.
A land that fought hard to stand proud and stand free.
A land, under God, indivisible, strong for all the world to see.
This was the American Zeal:
A blow so hard it could heal.
A land crying for the tired and the poor,
A cry that no nation could quite ignore.
She raised up these, her swaddled babes,
So they might grow good, and strong, and brave.
And time and again, her brood did grow strong
So that, through these years, her arm has grown long.
This was the American Dream:
To prove that a vision is not actually seen
In the mind of a person, but as a solid thing
As a cry in the dark, calling ‘Let freedom ring!’
Oh! Can’t you feel the old ones? Can’t you even hear?
Those people all long gone, yet leaving traces still here.
This was the American Heart:
A bold, righteous anger that set her apart.
At least, that is the way it once has been
And, I pray, someday it will be so again.
But America now is an enormous mess
Since ideas like honor, grace, integrity are held in duress,
For how can such things exist with no absolute truth?
It’s like a hall of elders who never knew youth.
We live in a land founded on Christian ideals,
But now the people say that God simply is not real.
We can speak of Buddha, Confucius, Darwin, and them,
But we dare not tell of Jesus, we must not offend.
We live in a land with ‘separation of church and state’
Where a crucifix is frowned upon, but a pentagram is great.
We cry for peace with open enemies, and then lock our doors;
Trust those who hate us, but not the guy next door.
Are we blind to this flagrant, fetid hypocrisy?
Or do we avert our eyes and pretend to be
Neither aid nor ado, set in between to just observe, to hear it?
No longer can I stand as such, I yearn for that old American Spirit.