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The Hill We Climb by Amanda Gorman

When day comes we ask ourselves,

Where can we find light in this never-ending shade?

The loss we carry, a sea we must wade.

We’ve braved the belly of the beast.

We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace.

And the norms and notions of what just is

isn’t always just-ice.

And yet, the dawn is ours before we knew it.

Somehow we do it.

Somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed

A nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished.

We, the successors of a country and a time,

where a skinny Black girl

descended from slaves and raised by a single mother

can dream of becoming president,

only to find herself reciting for one.

And yes we are far from polished,

far from pristine,

but that doesn’t mean we are

striving to form a union that is perfect.

We are striving to forge a union with purpose,

to compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and

conditions of man.

And so we lift our gazes, not to what stands between us,

but what stands before us.

We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,

we must first put our differences aside.

We lay down our arms

so we can reach out our arms

to one another.

We seek harm to none, and harmony for all.

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:

That even as we grieved, we grew.

That even as we hurt, we hoped.

That even as we tired, we tried.

That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious

not because we will never again know defeat,

but because we will never again sow division.

Scripture tells us to envision

that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree

And no one shall make them afraid.

If we’re to live up to our own time,

then victory won’t lie in the blade

but in all the bridges we’ve made.

That is the promise to glade

the hill we climb

if only we dare it.

Because being American is more than a pride we inherit.

It’s the past we step into

and how we repair it.

We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation rather than share it,

would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy,

and this effort very nearly succeeded.

But while democracy can be periodically delayed,

it can never be permanently defeated.

In this truth,

in this faith we trust.

For while we have our eyes on the future,

history has its eyes on us.

This is the era of just redemption

we feared at its inception.

We did not feel prepared to be the heirs

of such a terrifying hour,

but within it we found the power

to author a new chapter,

to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.

So, while we once we asked,

How could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?

Now, we assert,

How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was,

but move to what shall be.

A country that is bruised but whole,

benevolent but bold,

fierce and free.

We will not be turned around

or interrupted by intimidation,

because we know our inaction and inertia

will be the inheritance of the next generation.

Our blunders become their burdens.

But one thing is certain:

If we merge mercy with might,

and might with right,

then love becomes our legacy

and change our children’s birthright.

So let us leave behind a country

better than the one we were left with.

Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest.

We will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.

We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west.

We will rise from the windswept northeast,

where our forefathers first realized revolution.

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states.

We will rise from the sun-baked south.

We will rebuild, reconcile and recover,

and every known nook of our nation and

and every corner called our country,

our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,

battered and beautiful