Laudator Temporis Acti

Roy Morris. Jr., Ambrose Bierce: Alone in Bad Company (1996; rpt. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 201-202 (footnote omitted):

Given Bierce's well-known political views, it came as a surprise when a delegation of San Francisco worthies visited him at Auburn in the spring of 1888 and asked him to write a special poem commemorating the Fourth of July. Perhaps equally surprising, he agreed. Bierce worked hard on the poem, writing and rewriting its twenty-eight stanzas and reading them aloud to the publisher of the Auburn newspaper for discussion. The 112-line poem was declaimed by local actor George Osbourne at a mass gathering on the night of July 4 at the San Francisco Opera House and was republished in the Examiner the next day with an introductory note probably furnished by Bierce himself: "The poem is not one of the made to order kind. It is appropriate, but not with the ephemeral appropriateness that loses its flavor when immediate occasion is past." In fact, its flavor was altogether more acrid than the typical Fourth of July outpouring, which was not surprising, coming as it did from a writer who would observe of the same holiday two years later: "It is not desirable that political independence should be celebrated, world without end, by showing that its most conspicuous product is a national conceit invulnerable to derision and invincible to sense."....Despite its somewhat grudging patriotism, the poem was considered a great success, and Bierce, ever the frustrated poet, basked in his seasonal acclaim.

Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914?), An Invocation, from his Shapes of Clay (San Francisco: W.E. Wood, 1903), pp. 25-29:

[Read at the celebration of Independence Day in San Francisco, in 1888.]

Goddess of Liberty! O thou
  Whose tearless eyes behold the chain,
  And look unmoved upon the slain,
Eternal peace upon thy brow,—

Before thy shrine the races press,        5
  Thy perfect favor to implore—
  The proudest tyrant asks no more,
The ironed anarchist no less.

Thine altar-coals that touch the lips
  Of prophets kindle, too, the brand        10
  By Discord flung with wanton hand
Among the houses and the ships.

Upon thy tranquil front the star
  Burns bleak and passionless and white,
  Its cold inclemency of light        15
More dreadful than the shadows are.

Thy name we do not here invoke
  Our civic rites to sanctify:
  Enthroned in thy remoter sky,
Thou heedest not our broken yoke.        20

Thou carest not for such as we:
  Our millions die to serve the still
  And secret purpose of thy will.
They perish—what is that to thee?

The light that fills the patriot's tomb        25
  Is not of thee. The shining crown
  Compassionately offered down
To those who falter in the gloom,

And fall, and call upon thy name,
  And die desiring—'tis the sign        30
  Of a diviner love than thine,
Rewarding with a richer fame.

To him alone let freemen cry
  Who hears alike the victor's shout,
  The song of faith, the moan of doubt,        35
And bends him from his nearer sky.

God of my country and my race!
  So greater than the gods of old—
  So fairer than the prophets told
Who dimly saw and feared thy face,—        40

Who didst but half reveal thy will
  And gracious ends to their desire,
  Behind the dawn's advancing fire
Thy tender day-beam veiling still,—

To whom the unceasing suns belong,        45
  And cause is one with consequence,—
  To whose divine, inclusive sense
The moan is blended with the song,—

Whose laws, imperfect and unjust,
  Thy just and perfect purpose serve:        50
  The needle, howsoe'er it swerve,
Still warranting the sailor's trust,—

God, lift thy hand and make us free
  To crown the work thou hast designed.
  O, strike away the chains that bind        55
Our souls to one idolatry!

The liberty thy love hath given
  We thank thee for. We thank thee for
  Our great dead fathers' holy war
Wherein our manacles were riven.        60

We thank thee for the stronger stroke
  Ourselves delivered and incurred
  When—thine incitement half unheard—
The chains we riveted we broke.

We thank thee that beyond the sea        65
  Thy people, growing ever wise,
  Turn to the west their serious eyes
And dumbly strive to be as we.

As when the sun's returning flame
  Upon the Nileside statue shone,        70
  And struck from the enchanted stone
The music of a mighty fame,

Let Man salute the rising day
  Of Liberty, but not adore.
  'Tis Opportunity—no more—        75
A useful, not a sacred, ray.

It bringeth good, it bringeth ill,
  As he possessing shall elect.
  He maketh it of none effect
Who walketh not within thy will.        80

Give thou or more or less, as we
  Shall serve the right or serve the wrong.
  Confirm our freedom but so long
As we are worthy to be free.

But when (O, distant be the time!)        85
  Majorities in passion draw
  Insurgent swords to murder Law,
And all the land is red with crime;

Or—nearer menace!—when the band
  Of feeble spirits cringe and plead        90
  To the gigantic strength of Greed,
And fawn upon his iron hand;—

Nay, when the steps to state are worn
  In hollows by the feet of thieves,
  And Mammon sits among the sheaves        95
And chuckles while the reapers mourn:

Then stay thy miracle!—replace
  The broken throne, repair the chain,
  Restore the interrupted reign
And veil again thy patient face.        100

Lo! here upon the world's extreme
  We stand with lifted arms and dare
  By thine eternal name to swear
Our country, which so fair we deem—

Upon whose hills, a bannered throng,        105
  The spirits of the sun display
  Their flashing lances day by day
And hear the sea's pacific song—

Shall be so ruled in right and grace
  That men shall say: "O, drive afield        110
  The lawless eagle from the shield,
And call an angel to the place!"

We seem to be stuck at the stage described in lines 89-96.