O Daughters of the brave, well ye abjureThe fiend and all his works. Ye know his smilesAre fire-fly flare at gloaming, lighting milesOf snake-boughed forests down to swamps, impureFrom mind and soul decay; hence are heart-sureThat creed and racial hatreds are his wiles,For God is Love, and Love draws, reconsiles,And is the strength that makes our land endure.O Mothers, as you lift your babes and gazeInto their eyes, your love runs through their vainsIn crimson flushes—oh, your love that painsAt any of God's creatures hurt! that stays;The heavens may pass away, but that remains,Being of Christ, who walks earth Mother-ways.
O Daughters of the brave, well ye abjureThe fiend and all his works. Ye know his smilesAre fire-fly flare at gloaming, lighting milesOf snake-boughed forests down to swamps, impureFrom mind and soul decay; hence are heart-sureThat creed and racial hatreds are his wiles,For God is Love, and Love draws, reconsiles,And is the strength that makes our land endure.
O Daughters of the brave, well ye abjure
The fiend and all his works. Ye know his smiles
Are fire-fly flare at gloaming, lighting miles
Of snake-boughed forests down to swamps, impure
From mind and soul decay; hence are heart-sure
That creed and racial hatreds are his wiles,
For God is Love, and Love draws, reconsiles,
And is the strength that makes our land endure.
O Mothers, as you lift your babes and gazeInto their eyes, your love runs through their vainsIn crimson flushes—oh, your love that painsAt any of God's creatures hurt! that stays;The heavens may pass away, but that remains,Being of Christ, who walks earth Mother-ways.
O Mothers, as you lift your babes and gaze
Into their eyes, your love runs through their vains
In crimson flushes—oh, your love that pains
At any of God's creatures hurt! that stays;
The heavens may pass away, but that remains,
Being of Christ, who walks earth Mother-ways.
Oh, like your sires, you, too, know Freedom's worthTo Human Spirit. For its liberation,A God unrealmed himself by tribulation,And was an out-cast on a scornful earth.Christ is no myth and, since with Human birthHe forms new Heavens for blissful habitation—There unto is the Freedom of the Nation;All other trend is down to dark and dearth.When from the darkness rainbowed birth comes pouring,Your virtue heeds the voice, Eternity—Re-echos: "Let them come." 'Tis Nature's pleaFor broadening progress; Nay, 'tis God imploringThe Human to take strength for Liberty,Truth, Honor, to catch up to the stars, a-soaring.
Oh, like your sires, you, too, know Freedom's worthTo Human Spirit. For its liberation,A God unrealmed himself by tribulation,And was an out-cast on a scornful earth.Christ is no myth and, since with Human birthHe forms new Heavens for blissful habitation—There unto is the Freedom of the Nation;All other trend is down to dark and dearth.
Oh, like your sires, you, too, know Freedom's worth
To Human Spirit. For its liberation,
A God unrealmed himself by tribulation,
And was an out-cast on a scornful earth.
Christ is no myth and, since with Human birth
He forms new Heavens for blissful habitation—
There unto is the Freedom of the Nation;
All other trend is down to dark and dearth.
When from the darkness rainbowed birth comes pouring,Your virtue heeds the voice, Eternity—Re-echos: "Let them come." 'Tis Nature's pleaFor broadening progress; Nay, 'tis God imploringThe Human to take strength for Liberty,Truth, Honor, to catch up to the stars, a-soaring.
When from the darkness rainbowed birth comes pouring,
Your virtue heeds the voice, Eternity—
Re-echos: "Let them come." 'Tis Nature's plea
For broadening progress; Nay, 'tis God imploring
The Human to take strength for Liberty,
Truth, Honor, to catch up to the stars, a-soaring.
O Daughters of brave sires, what is true glory?No marsh-ward falling star, however bright.'Tis inspirational; its upward flightLifts generations—such your Father's story,And also yours, for is not that, too, gory?You pour out your hearts blood in sons to fightFor honor, and cease not till every rightHas been set down in Triumph's inventory.Oh, into daughters, too, old noble Mothers!You pour out your hearts blood that, in your place,They may fill up the ranks and, as in caseOf Molly Pitcher, man guns for their brothers,And hearten firm, the trembling human raceTo know, though brave men fall, there still comes others.
O Daughters of brave sires, what is true glory?No marsh-ward falling star, however bright.'Tis inspirational; its upward flightLifts generations—such your Father's story,And also yours, for is not that, too, gory?You pour out your hearts blood in sons to fightFor honor, and cease not till every rightHas been set down in Triumph's inventory.
O Daughters of brave sires, what is true glory?
No marsh-ward falling star, however bright.
'Tis inspirational; its upward flight
Lifts generations—such your Father's story,
And also yours, for is not that, too, gory?
You pour out your hearts blood in sons to fight
For honor, and cease not till every right
Has been set down in Triumph's inventory.
Oh, into daughters, too, old noble Mothers!You pour out your hearts blood that, in your place,They may fill up the ranks and, as in caseOf Molly Pitcher, man guns for their brothers,And hearten firm, the trembling human raceTo know, though brave men fall, there still comes others.
Oh, into daughters, too, old noble Mothers!
You pour out your hearts blood that, in your place,
They may fill up the ranks and, as in case
Of Molly Pitcher, man guns for their brothers,
And hearten firm, the trembling human race
To know, though brave men fall, there still comes others.
If Christ's foreshadowing in Juda's hazeWas of his grief, 'tis of His triumph, here,For, is not His celestrial glory clearIn Freedom for all men? First, gaseous raysIn Maryland, then rounded firm full blazeIn the Republic, it draws every sphereOf Human welfare, whether far or near,From depths occult to nights with dawns and days.The Freedom of the Generation's longingReflects Lord Christ in glory, hour by hour,With more distinctness, as you, with His power,Free heart and brain from every brother-wronging,And give your offspring, these, as flesh and dower,To live and lead the millions, hither thronging.
If Christ's foreshadowing in Juda's hazeWas of his grief, 'tis of His triumph, here,For, is not His celestrial glory clearIn Freedom for all men? First, gaseous raysIn Maryland, then rounded firm full blazeIn the Republic, it draws every sphereOf Human welfare, whether far or near,From depths occult to nights with dawns and days.
If Christ's foreshadowing in Juda's haze
Was of his grief, 'tis of His triumph, here,
For, is not His celestrial glory clear
In Freedom for all men? First, gaseous rays
In Maryland, then rounded firm full blaze
In the Republic, it draws every sphere
Of Human welfare, whether far or near,
From depths occult to nights with dawns and days.
The Freedom of the Generation's longingReflects Lord Christ in glory, hour by hour,With more distinctness, as you, with His power,Free heart and brain from every brother-wronging,And give your offspring, these, as flesh and dower,To live and lead the millions, hither thronging.
The Freedom of the Generation's longing
Reflects Lord Christ in glory, hour by hour,
With more distinctness, as you, with His power,
Free heart and brain from every brother-wronging,
And give your offspring, these, as flesh and dower,
To live and lead the millions, hither thronging.
Oh, ever Mothers—shaping robust youthNo less than infant, and as perfectly!There's life blood to their veins from when on kneeTo when thy battle, from your broadening ruthFor Human kind and fervent love of truth.If, like their fathers, they have come to beThe wonder of the world, for liberty,Your virtue, 'tis, that in their valor greweth.Oh, as the Roman Mother, when she showedFor jewels, her two sons, saw each of themIn Time's Tiara, glittering there a gem;So, see your offspring shine. The light, bestowedYour Fathers, in your sons is diamond flame,Encircling Freedom's ocean-walled abode.
Oh, ever Mothers—shaping robust youthNo less than infant, and as perfectly!There's life blood to their veins from when on kneeTo when thy battle, from your broadening ruthFor Human kind and fervent love of truth.If, like their fathers, they have come to beThe wonder of the world, for liberty,Your virtue, 'tis, that in their valor greweth.
Oh, ever Mothers—shaping robust youth
No less than infant, and as perfectly!
There's life blood to their veins from when on knee
To when thy battle, from your broadening ruth
For Human kind and fervent love of truth.
If, like their fathers, they have come to be
The wonder of the world, for liberty,
Your virtue, 'tis, that in their valor greweth.
Oh, as the Roman Mother, when she showedFor jewels, her two sons, saw each of themIn Time's Tiara, glittering there a gem;So, see your offspring shine. The light, bestowedYour Fathers, in your sons is diamond flame,Encircling Freedom's ocean-walled abode.
Oh, as the Roman Mother, when she showed
For jewels, her two sons, saw each of them
In Time's Tiara, glittering there a gem;
So, see your offspring shine. The light, bestowed
Your Fathers, in your sons is diamond flame,
Encircling Freedom's ocean-walled abode.
Is it Apocalyptic Vision, whenWhite-winged Columbus swoops from Spain's palmed shoreAnd, from dark depths, lifts at San Salvador,A continent, adrip with streams which, then,Become the fountain of the Psalmist's ken,Where Right the heart, from hoof to horn foam-hoarFrom craggy speed, slakes thirst, and, evermore,Comes Hope's whole clattering herd?—you chant, "Amen."Aye, for your sires made earth this new creationWhere, from San Salvadore and Plymouth ReefTo Westward Mission Trails, ascends beliefIn God and, therefore, in the Soul's SalvationThrough Freedom, in white, spiral spray which griefSees, spite earth-mists, or solar obscuration.
Is it Apocalyptic Vision, whenWhite-winged Columbus swoops from Spain's palmed shoreAnd, from dark depths, lifts at San Salvador,A continent, adrip with streams which, then,Become the fountain of the Psalmist's ken,Where Right the heart, from hoof to horn foam-hoarFrom craggy speed, slakes thirst, and, evermore,Comes Hope's whole clattering herd?—you chant, "Amen."
Is it Apocalyptic Vision, when
White-winged Columbus swoops from Spain's palmed shore
And, from dark depths, lifts at San Salvador,
A continent, adrip with streams which, then,
Become the fountain of the Psalmist's ken,
Where Right the heart, from hoof to horn foam-hoar
From craggy speed, slakes thirst, and, evermore,
Comes Hope's whole clattering herd?—you chant, "Amen."
Aye, for your sires made earth this new creationWhere, from San Salvadore and Plymouth ReefTo Westward Mission Trails, ascends beliefIn God and, therefore, in the Soul's SalvationThrough Freedom, in white, spiral spray which griefSees, spite earth-mists, or solar obscuration.
Aye, for your sires made earth this new creation
Where, from San Salvadore and Plymouth Reef
To Westward Mission Trails, ascends belief
In God and, therefore, in the Soul's Salvation
Through Freedom, in white, spiral spray which grief
Sees, spite earth-mists, or solar obscuration.
Sonnets
Soar thou aloft, though thou ascend alone,O Human Spirit! Thou canst not be lost.What though yon stars, the azure's nightly frostMelt dark, or mount round thee an arctic zone!Thou hast sun-warmth and star-source of thine own.If thou mount not, how bitter is the cost!What anguish, when whirled down, or tempest tossed,To know how high toward God thou mightst have flown!Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climbThe mountain and the star on trail of thee?Thy wing-flash beams toward Man, and, if it beTrue inspiration—whether thought sublime,Or fervor for the Truth, or Liberty—Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time.
Soar thou aloft, though thou ascend alone,O Human Spirit! Thou canst not be lost.What though yon stars, the azure's nightly frostMelt dark, or mount round thee an arctic zone!Thou hast sun-warmth and star-source of thine own.If thou mount not, how bitter is the cost!What anguish, when whirled down, or tempest tossed,To know how high toward God thou mightst have flown!
Soar thou aloft, though thou ascend alone,
O Human Spirit! Thou canst not be lost.
What though yon stars, the azure's nightly frost
Melt dark, or mount round thee an arctic zone!
Thou hast sun-warmth and star-source of thine own.
If thou mount not, how bitter is the cost!
What anguish, when whirled down, or tempest tossed,
To know how high toward God thou mightst have flown!
Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climbThe mountain and the star on trail of thee?Thy wing-flash beams toward Man, and, if it beTrue inspiration—whether thought sublime,Or fervor for the Truth, or Liberty—Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time.
Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climb
The mountain and the star on trail of thee?
Thy wing-flash beams toward Man, and, if it be
True inspiration—whether thought sublime,
Or fervor for the Truth, or Liberty—
Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time.
Forming the great Atlantic, see God takeThe mist from woe's white mountain, spring and stream,The breath of man in frost, the spiral leanFrom roof-cracked caves where, though the heart may break,The soul will not lie torpid, like the snake,—And battle smoke. On them He breathes with dreamAnd, Lo! an Angel with a sword agleam'Twix the Old World and New for Justice's sake.What sea so broad, as that from Human weeping?Or Sun so flaming, as the Angel's swordOf Human and Devine Wills in accord?There, with sword-flash of myriad waves, joy-leaping,Shall loom forever, Freedom's watch and ward,With the New World in his Seraphic keeping.
Forming the great Atlantic, see God takeThe mist from woe's white mountain, spring and stream,The breath of man in frost, the spiral leanFrom roof-cracked caves where, though the heart may break,The soul will not lie torpid, like the snake,—And battle smoke. On them He breathes with dreamAnd, Lo! an Angel with a sword agleam'Twix the Old World and New for Justice's sake.
Forming the great Atlantic, see God take
The mist from woe's white mountain, spring and stream,
The breath of man in frost, the spiral lean
From roof-cracked caves where, though the heart may break,
The soul will not lie torpid, like the snake,—
And battle smoke. On them He breathes with dream
And, Lo! an Angel with a sword agleam
'Twix the Old World and New for Justice's sake.
What sea so broad, as that from Human weeping?Or Sun so flaming, as the Angel's swordOf Human and Devine Wills in accord?There, with sword-flash of myriad waves, joy-leaping,Shall loom forever, Freedom's watch and ward,With the New World in his Seraphic keeping.
What sea so broad, as that from Human weeping?
Or Sun so flaming, as the Angel's sword
Of Human and Devine Wills in accord?
There, with sword-flash of myriad waves, joy-leaping,
Shall loom forever, Freedom's watch and ward,
With the New World in his Seraphic keeping.
This is thy glory, Man, that thou art free.'Tis in thy freedom, thy resemblance liesTo thy Creator. Nature, which, tide-wise,Is flood and ebb, bounds not sky flight for thee.Lo! as the sun arises from the sea,Startling all beauty God-ward, thou dost riseWith mind to God in heaven, from finite ties,And there, in freedom, thou art great as He.Meeting thy God with mind, 'tis thine to choose,Wheather to follow him with love and soar,Or dream Him myth and, rather than adore,Plunge headlong into Nature's whirl and ooze.Thine is full freedom. Ah! could God do moreTo liken thee to Him, and love, infuse?
This is thy glory, Man, that thou art free.'Tis in thy freedom, thy resemblance liesTo thy Creator. Nature, which, tide-wise,Is flood and ebb, bounds not sky flight for thee.Lo! as the sun arises from the sea,Startling all beauty God-ward, thou dost riseWith mind to God in heaven, from finite ties,And there, in freedom, thou art great as He.
This is thy glory, Man, that thou art free.
'Tis in thy freedom, thy resemblance lies
To thy Creator. Nature, which, tide-wise,
Is flood and ebb, bounds not sky flight for thee.
Lo! as the sun arises from the sea,
Startling all beauty God-ward, thou dost rise
With mind to God in heaven, from finite ties,
And there, in freedom, thou art great as He.
Meeting thy God with mind, 'tis thine to choose,Wheather to follow him with love and soar,Or dream Him myth and, rather than adore,Plunge headlong into Nature's whirl and ooze.Thine is full freedom. Ah! could God do moreTo liken thee to Him, and love, infuse?
Meeting thy God with mind, 'tis thine to choose,
Wheather to follow him with love and soar,
Or dream Him myth and, rather than adore,
Plunge headlong into Nature's whirl and ooze.
Thine is full freedom. Ah! could God do more
To liken thee to Him, and love, infuse?
God loves the stars; else why star-shape the dewFor the unbreathing, shy, heart-hiding rose?And when earth darkens, and the North wind blows,Why into stars, flake every cloud's black brew?What fitter forms for longings high and true,Man's hopes, ideals, than bright orbs like thoseAsbine from Nature's dawn to Nature's close,In clusters, prisming every dazzling hue?Nor is the Sun with harvests in its heat,And that, sky-hidden, makes the moon at night,An earth-ward cascade for its leaps of light,More real, or a world force more complete,Than Faith and Hope, that brake through clouds with sightOf evil's foil and ultimate defeat.
God loves the stars; else why star-shape the dewFor the unbreathing, shy, heart-hiding rose?And when earth darkens, and the North wind blows,Why into stars, flake every cloud's black brew?What fitter forms for longings high and true,Man's hopes, ideals, than bright orbs like thoseAsbine from Nature's dawn to Nature's close,In clusters, prisming every dazzling hue?
God loves the stars; else why star-shape the dew
For the unbreathing, shy, heart-hiding rose?
And when earth darkens, and the North wind blows,
Why into stars, flake every cloud's black brew?
What fitter forms for longings high and true,
Man's hopes, ideals, than bright orbs like those
Asbine from Nature's dawn to Nature's close,
In clusters, prisming every dazzling hue?
Nor is the Sun with harvests in its heat,And that, sky-hidden, makes the moon at night,An earth-ward cascade for its leaps of light,More real, or a world force more complete,Than Faith and Hope, that brake through clouds with sightOf evil's foil and ultimate defeat.
Nor is the Sun with harvests in its heat,
And that, sky-hidden, makes the moon at night,
An earth-ward cascade for its leaps of light,
More real, or a world force more complete,
Than Faith and Hope, that brake through clouds with sight
Of evil's foil and ultimate defeat.
O Freedom! Born amid resplendent spheres,And, with God-like creative power, endowed,Hast thou, to human life's blue depths, not vowedA splendor, not alone like that which 'pearsAt present, where the upper asure clears,But that the Nebulae will yet unshroud?I hear thy far off cry where thou art lone,A John the Baptist: "Lo! one greater nears."What is this Greater—this which is to meetThe planets and ascend high, high and higher?The right of human spirit to aspireAnd mount, unhampered—and by act, completeCreations harmony, as by desire,Proclaimed by brain with throb, by heart with beat.
O Freedom! Born amid resplendent spheres,And, with God-like creative power, endowed,Hast thou, to human life's blue depths, not vowedA splendor, not alone like that which 'pearsAt present, where the upper asure clears,But that the Nebulae will yet unshroud?I hear thy far off cry where thou art lone,A John the Baptist: "Lo! one greater nears."
O Freedom! Born amid resplendent spheres,
And, with God-like creative power, endowed,
Hast thou, to human life's blue depths, not vowed
A splendor, not alone like that which 'pears
At present, where the upper asure clears,
But that the Nebulae will yet unshroud?
I hear thy far off cry where thou art lone,
A John the Baptist: "Lo! one greater nears."
What is this Greater—this which is to meetThe planets and ascend high, high and higher?The right of human spirit to aspireAnd mount, unhampered—and by act, completeCreations harmony, as by desire,Proclaimed by brain with throb, by heart with beat.
What is this Greater—this which is to meet
The planets and ascend high, high and higher?
The right of human spirit to aspire
And mount, unhampered—and by act, complete
Creations harmony, as by desire,
Proclaimed by brain with throb, by heart with beat.
In thy descent through azures, all aglowWith circling spheres, the beauty of each blaze,And grandeur, then, of all, entrance thy gaze.Thou thinkest, why not thus all life below?Perceiving, then that all the breezes blowUpward and onward, in the skyey maze,Thou wouldst go back and start with them, to raiseA new creation from chaotic throe.Thou seest plainly that without that breeze,The breath of God, all that thou couldst create,Were lifeless, save to turn on thee with hate,And chase an age with grim atrocities;But with that breath, thou couldst raise life to mateThe Planet's splendor, in the azures Peace.
In thy descent through azures, all aglowWith circling spheres, the beauty of each blaze,And grandeur, then, of all, entrance thy gaze.Thou thinkest, why not thus all life below?Perceiving, then that all the breezes blowUpward and onward, in the skyey maze,Thou wouldst go back and start with them, to raiseA new creation from chaotic throe.
In thy descent through azures, all aglow
With circling spheres, the beauty of each blaze,
And grandeur, then, of all, entrance thy gaze.
Thou thinkest, why not thus all life below?
Perceiving, then that all the breezes blow
Upward and onward, in the skyey maze,
Thou wouldst go back and start with them, to raise
A new creation from chaotic throe.
Thou seest plainly that without that breeze,The breath of God, all that thou couldst create,Were lifeless, save to turn on thee with hate,And chase an age with grim atrocities;But with that breath, thou couldst raise life to mateThe Planet's splendor, in the azures Peace.
Thou seest plainly that without that breeze,
The breath of God, all that thou couldst create,
Were lifeless, save to turn on thee with hate,
And chase an age with grim atrocities;
But with that breath, thou couldst raise life to mate
The Planet's splendor, in the azures Peace.
O Freedom! as thy sister spirit, Spring,Pausing above the earth, sees every hueOf her prismatic crown, reflected trueIn forests and in fields, and fledgling's wing,So thou dost see thy spirit gloryingWith faith, that man is more than Nature's spew—In human spirit that, from beauty drewFirst breath to know that soul is more than thing.O Freedom! fain we follow thee in flightFrom chaos to God's glory round and round,Aloft! how like an elk pursued by hound,To brinks thou springest toward the distant heightAnd, on bent knees, then speedest without sound,Like Faith through Death, till, lo! thou dost alight.
O Freedom! as thy sister spirit, Spring,Pausing above the earth, sees every hueOf her prismatic crown, reflected trueIn forests and in fields, and fledgling's wing,So thou dost see thy spirit gloryingWith faith, that man is more than Nature's spew—In human spirit that, from beauty drewFirst breath to know that soul is more than thing.
O Freedom! as thy sister spirit, Spring,
Pausing above the earth, sees every hue
Of her prismatic crown, reflected true
In forests and in fields, and fledgling's wing,
So thou dost see thy spirit glorying
With faith, that man is more than Nature's spew—
In human spirit that, from beauty drew
First breath to know that soul is more than thing.
O Freedom! fain we follow thee in flightFrom chaos to God's glory round and round,Aloft! how like an elk pursued by hound,To brinks thou springest toward the distant heightAnd, on bent knees, then speedest without sound,Like Faith through Death, till, lo! thou dost alight.
O Freedom! fain we follow thee in flight
From chaos to God's glory round and round,
Aloft! how like an elk pursued by hound,
To brinks thou springest toward the distant height
And, on bent knees, then speedest without sound,
Like Faith through Death, till, lo! thou dost alight.
"Ye Wreaches, who would lay proud England's headUpon the block, and raise her features, then,Bloodless and ghastly, for the scorn of men!Begone forever. Go where terrors spreadTheir sea and forest mouths to crush you dead.Oh, how the clouds shall crimson from each glen,A roar with blaze, and flame search out each fen,If back to us, yea e'er are vomited."To this Parental blessing and God-speed,The Pilgrim Fathers gladly made reply:"These waves are Conscience's wings along the sky;They carry us to God, whose call we heed.The further from thy coast of hate and lie,The nearer God. On! On!—that is our creed."
"Ye Wreaches, who would lay proud England's headUpon the block, and raise her features, then,Bloodless and ghastly, for the scorn of men!Begone forever. Go where terrors spreadTheir sea and forest mouths to crush you dead.Oh, how the clouds shall crimson from each glen,A roar with blaze, and flame search out each fen,If back to us, yea e'er are vomited."
"Ye Wreaches, who would lay proud England's head
Upon the block, and raise her features, then,
Bloodless and ghastly, for the scorn of men!
Begone forever. Go where terrors spread
Their sea and forest mouths to crush you dead.
Oh, how the clouds shall crimson from each glen,
A roar with blaze, and flame search out each fen,
If back to us, yea e'er are vomited."
To this Parental blessing and God-speed,The Pilgrim Fathers gladly made reply:"These waves are Conscience's wings along the sky;They carry us to God, whose call we heed.The further from thy coast of hate and lie,The nearer God. On! On!—that is our creed."
To this Parental blessing and God-speed,
The Pilgrim Fathers gladly made reply:
"These waves are Conscience's wings along the sky;
They carry us to God, whose call we heed.
The further from thy coast of hate and lie,
The nearer God. On! On!—that is our creed."
O Sun and Stars! bear ye Earth's thanks to God;For Oh! what waters, slaking every thirstOf heart, mind, spirit, in long cascades burstFrom Plymouth Rock, when struck by Freedom's rod!No wanderer in the burning sand, unshod,Plods man with lolling tongue, dog-like, as erst;For lo! this fountain, deepening from the first,Floods Earth's old wells and greens Life's sand to sod.Oh, more those waters than the Font of Youth,For which, through field and swamp, the Spaniard ran!For they are clear with God's eternal truthOf fatherhood, hence brotherhood of man,And are no dream. They quench all human drouthAnd cleanse man's desert dust of sect and clan.
O Sun and Stars! bear ye Earth's thanks to God;For Oh! what waters, slaking every thirstOf heart, mind, spirit, in long cascades burstFrom Plymouth Rock, when struck by Freedom's rod!No wanderer in the burning sand, unshod,Plods man with lolling tongue, dog-like, as erst;For lo! this fountain, deepening from the first,Floods Earth's old wells and greens Life's sand to sod.
O Sun and Stars! bear ye Earth's thanks to God;
For Oh! what waters, slaking every thirst
Of heart, mind, spirit, in long cascades burst
From Plymouth Rock, when struck by Freedom's rod!
No wanderer in the burning sand, unshod,
Plods man with lolling tongue, dog-like, as erst;
For lo! this fountain, deepening from the first,
Floods Earth's old wells and greens Life's sand to sod.
Oh, more those waters than the Font of Youth,For which, through field and swamp, the Spaniard ran!For they are clear with God's eternal truthOf fatherhood, hence brotherhood of man,And are no dream. They quench all human drouthAnd cleanse man's desert dust of sect and clan.
Oh, more those waters than the Font of Youth,
For which, through field and swamp, the Spaniard ran!
For they are clear with God's eternal truth
Of fatherhood, hence brotherhood of man,
And are no dream. They quench all human drouth
And cleanse man's desert dust of sect and clan.
Of Expeditions in the Arctic Past,All honor to the one that reached the poleAnd formed a settlement where every soulEnjoyed full freedom. There above the blast,How musical the bell, by Justice cast!It welcomed all to come. It ceased to tollAfter a while, but why? Those, welcomed, stoleAnd dragged it where the ice formed thick and fast.Of Arctic Expeditions there is noneSo profitable to the human raceAs that toward Freedom's pole, and hence men faceAll storms to reach it. If they fail, the sunHas but one joy—to thaw out wrecks, and traceMan's progress where alone it can be done.
Of Expeditions in the Arctic Past,All honor to the one that reached the poleAnd formed a settlement where every soulEnjoyed full freedom. There above the blast,How musical the bell, by Justice cast!It welcomed all to come. It ceased to tollAfter a while, but why? Those, welcomed, stoleAnd dragged it where the ice formed thick and fast.
Of Expeditions in the Arctic Past,
All honor to the one that reached the pole
And formed a settlement where every soul
Enjoyed full freedom. There above the blast,
How musical the bell, by Justice cast!
It welcomed all to come. It ceased to toll
After a while, but why? Those, welcomed, stole
And dragged it where the ice formed thick and fast.
Of Arctic Expeditions there is noneSo profitable to the human raceAs that toward Freedom's pole, and hence men faceAll storms to reach it. If they fail, the sunHas but one joy—to thaw out wrecks, and traceMan's progress where alone it can be done.
Of Arctic Expeditions there is none
So profitable to the human race
As that toward Freedom's pole, and hence men face
All storms to reach it. If they fail, the sun
Has but one joy—to thaw out wrecks, and trace
Man's progress where alone it can be done.
Say, what is Ma-jest-y without externals?Is Burke's analysis not right—"A Jest"?Ah, but a jest, at which the poor, oft pressedTo their last heart-drop, laugh not, like court journals.The King needs coin, and, where he sowed no kernels,Wants the whole forest for his hawks to nestAnd breed in, and became an annual pest;In this the farmers show that they discern ills.Hark! blares the tyrant's horn and, in a thrice,The Tories gather. Eagerly they band,For is the King not greater than the land?And rows with royalty, a rabble's vice?Besides, what creeping tribes at his command,And Spies and Hessians at a ferret's price!
Say, what is Ma-jest-y without externals?Is Burke's analysis not right—"A Jest"?Ah, but a jest, at which the poor, oft pressedTo their last heart-drop, laugh not, like court journals.The King needs coin, and, where he sowed no kernels,Wants the whole forest for his hawks to nestAnd breed in, and became an annual pest;In this the farmers show that they discern ills.
Say, what is Ma-jest-y without externals?
Is Burke's analysis not right—"A Jest"?
Ah, but a jest, at which the poor, oft pressed
To their last heart-drop, laugh not, like court journals.
The King needs coin, and, where he sowed no kernels,
Wants the whole forest for his hawks to nest
And breed in, and became an annual pest;
In this the farmers show that they discern ills.
Hark! blares the tyrant's horn and, in a thrice,The Tories gather. Eagerly they band,For is the King not greater than the land?And rows with royalty, a rabble's vice?Besides, what creeping tribes at his command,And Spies and Hessians at a ferret's price!
Hark! blares the tyrant's horn and, in a thrice,
The Tories gather. Eagerly they band,
For is the King not greater than the land?
And rows with royalty, a rabble's vice?
Besides, what creeping tribes at his command,
And Spies and Hessians at a ferret's price!
To Arms! shouts Freedom to her sons. Behold!How, like Job's war-horse, they gulp down the groundTo battle! What care they how foes surround?Oh, joy to Celts, nigh half the true and bold!There, with the roar of all their wrongs uprolledFrom ancient depths, they dash with billow-boundUp rock and summit, and through cave and mound,Spurning both Tyrants' steel and Treason's gold.No tide are they to ebb in heart and spirit.If dashed back, they return with all the forceOf six dark sea's momentum on its courseFor vengeance on the vile, who disinheritThe human-being—shut off every sourceOf happiness, or let but Serf's draw near it!
To Arms! shouts Freedom to her sons. Behold!How, like Job's war-horse, they gulp down the groundTo battle! What care they how foes surround?Oh, joy to Celts, nigh half the true and bold!There, with the roar of all their wrongs uprolledFrom ancient depths, they dash with billow-boundUp rock and summit, and through cave and mound,Spurning both Tyrants' steel and Treason's gold.
To Arms! shouts Freedom to her sons. Behold!
How, like Job's war-horse, they gulp down the ground
To battle! What care they how foes surround?
Oh, joy to Celts, nigh half the true and bold!
There, with the roar of all their wrongs uprolled
From ancient depths, they dash with billow-bound
Up rock and summit, and through cave and mound,
Spurning both Tyrants' steel and Treason's gold.
No tide are they to ebb in heart and spirit.If dashed back, they return with all the forceOf six dark sea's momentum on its courseFor vengeance on the vile, who disinheritThe human-being—shut off every sourceOf happiness, or let but Serf's draw near it!
No tide are they to ebb in heart and spirit.
If dashed back, they return with all the force
Of six dark sea's momentum on its course
For vengeance on the vile, who disinherit
The human-being—shut off every source
Of happiness, or let but Serf's draw near it!
The wounded Sidney, who despite his thirst,Gave water to his comrade, shines, a lampIn the Cimerian dark of Britain's camp.Even the Raleigh, who so finely versed,Preferred to such a light, the flame accursedOf sword and torch, to please a royal vamp.Is British triumph in its world-wide trampThe Hell, still "lower than lowest"—Milton's worst?Lord Christ! is British soldiery the swine,In whose gross forms the fiends, exercised, flew?Oh! watch them through the ages, they pursueThe noble and devour all things Divine.Look! they illustrate horrors, which prove trueThe Hell, which Milton's glimpse could not outline.
The wounded Sidney, who despite his thirst,Gave water to his comrade, shines, a lampIn the Cimerian dark of Britain's camp.Even the Raleigh, who so finely versed,Preferred to such a light, the flame accursedOf sword and torch, to please a royal vamp.Is British triumph in its world-wide trampThe Hell, still "lower than lowest"—Milton's worst?
The wounded Sidney, who despite his thirst,
Gave water to his comrade, shines, a lamp
In the Cimerian dark of Britain's camp.
Even the Raleigh, who so finely versed,
Preferred to such a light, the flame accursed
Of sword and torch, to please a royal vamp.
Is British triumph in its world-wide tramp
The Hell, still "lower than lowest"—Milton's worst?
Lord Christ! is British soldiery the swine,In whose gross forms the fiends, exercised, flew?Oh! watch them through the ages, they pursueThe noble and devour all things Divine.Look! they illustrate horrors, which prove trueThe Hell, which Milton's glimpse could not outline.
Lord Christ! is British soldiery the swine,
In whose gross forms the fiends, exercised, flew?
Oh! watch them through the ages, they pursue
The noble and devour all things Divine.
Look! they illustrate horrors, which prove true
The Hell, which Milton's glimpse could not outline.
Look! Freedom glares and pallid as a ghost,Except for gashes on her brow and breast,And faint from hunger, sits awhile to rest.Amphibious Barry, bold on sea or coast,Mounts and spurs darkness to the Tory Host,And, like an Indian rider with head prestDown to his steed's hot neck in prowess test,Plucks from the ground, a prize he well may boast.Oh, as the sun's smile passing through the rain,Shines forth a double arch, so, Barry's deed,Refleshing Freedom's bones made gaunt by need,Shines through the Ages; aye, and shines forth twain—Both for America, from Britain Freed,And Erin, still choked black in Britain's chain!
Look! Freedom glares and pallid as a ghost,Except for gashes on her brow and breast,And faint from hunger, sits awhile to rest.Amphibious Barry, bold on sea or coast,Mounts and spurs darkness to the Tory Host,And, like an Indian rider with head prestDown to his steed's hot neck in prowess test,Plucks from the ground, a prize he well may boast.
Look! Freedom glares and pallid as a ghost,
Except for gashes on her brow and breast,
And faint from hunger, sits awhile to rest.
Amphibious Barry, bold on sea or coast,
Mounts and spurs darkness to the Tory Host,
And, like an Indian rider with head prest
Down to his steed's hot neck in prowess test,
Plucks from the ground, a prize he well may boast.
Oh, as the sun's smile passing through the rain,Shines forth a double arch, so, Barry's deed,Refleshing Freedom's bones made gaunt by need,Shines through the Ages; aye, and shines forth twain—Both for America, from Britain Freed,And Erin, still choked black in Britain's chain!
Oh, as the sun's smile passing through the rain,
Shines forth a double arch, so, Barry's deed,
Refleshing Freedom's bones made gaunt by need,
Shines through the Ages; aye, and shines forth twain—
Both for America, from Britain Freed,
And Erin, still choked black in Britain's chain!
With France and Erin heartening Washington,Prone Freedom rose, with head above the cloud.Beholding her transfigured, Thrall is cowed.His minions are bewildered. How they run!Some follow him against the rising sun;Others plod north. The Torries' vaster crowdHide in dark places, and like Satan, proud,They hate the glory, that the true have won.O Milton! Thou beheldest them. Thine earCaught their defiance and thy lightening pen,In shattering the dark in evil's den,Caught hope amphibious from leer to leerOf those grim shadows, plotting to regainLost Paradise, or bane its atmosphere.
With France and Erin heartening Washington,Prone Freedom rose, with head above the cloud.Beholding her transfigured, Thrall is cowed.His minions are bewildered. How they run!Some follow him against the rising sun;Others plod north. The Torries' vaster crowdHide in dark places, and like Satan, proud,They hate the glory, that the true have won.
With France and Erin heartening Washington,
Prone Freedom rose, with head above the cloud.
Beholding her transfigured, Thrall is cowed.
His minions are bewildered. How they run!
Some follow him against the rising sun;
Others plod north. The Torries' vaster crowd
Hide in dark places, and like Satan, proud,
They hate the glory, that the true have won.
O Milton! Thou beheldest them. Thine earCaught their defiance and thy lightening pen,In shattering the dark in evil's den,Caught hope amphibious from leer to leerOf those grim shadows, plotting to regainLost Paradise, or bane its atmosphere.
O Milton! Thou beheldest them. Thine ear
Caught their defiance and thy lightening pen,
In shattering the dark in evil's den,
Caught hope amphibious from leer to leer
Of those grim shadows, plotting to regain
Lost Paradise, or bane its atmosphere.
Who loosed our land from Britain's numbing hold?"They who had naught to loose," the Tories say;That is—not menials in the King's sure pay,Nor mongrels, chained to guard their master's gold.They were True Men. Their spirit, young and bold,With dreams played follow-master, climbing dayFrom deepest night, to catch the Sun and stayHis glory for the World, then whiteing cold.Though darkness be far vaster than the lamp,It is the beams that lead to progress, count."To manhood, with the virtues to surmountSuch darknesses as Valley Forge's camp,And seas, deep hell's sky-reaching, broadening fount,Honor!" The ages shout on Triumph's tramp.
Who loosed our land from Britain's numbing hold?"They who had naught to loose," the Tories say;That is—not menials in the King's sure pay,Nor mongrels, chained to guard their master's gold.They were True Men. Their spirit, young and bold,With dreams played follow-master, climbing dayFrom deepest night, to catch the Sun and stayHis glory for the World, then whiteing cold.
Who loosed our land from Britain's numbing hold?
"They who had naught to loose," the Tories say;
That is—not menials in the King's sure pay,
Nor mongrels, chained to guard their master's gold.
They were True Men. Their spirit, young and bold,
With dreams played follow-master, climbing day
From deepest night, to catch the Sun and stay
His glory for the World, then whiteing cold.
Though darkness be far vaster than the lamp,It is the beams that lead to progress, count."To manhood, with the virtues to surmountSuch darknesses as Valley Forge's camp,And seas, deep hell's sky-reaching, broadening fount,Honor!" The ages shout on Triumph's tramp.
Though darkness be far vaster than the lamp,
It is the beams that lead to progress, count.
"To manhood, with the virtues to surmount
Such darknesses as Valley Forge's camp,
And seas, deep hell's sky-reaching, broadening fount,
Honor!" The ages shout on Triumph's tramp.
When hurled from heaven, 'tis thought, the fiends of prideCaught Earth to brake their fall. The regions gaveAnd sank with all the hosts beneath the wave!'Tis in those sunken regions which divideThe new world of the resolute and brave,From the old world of king and abject slave,Where Torries, counterfeiting Satan, hide.Clinging, like lava, to a lifeless limb,They think the phosphorescence of the barkIs morning, which the long-belated larkIs hastening to welcome with his hymn;Else, they form poisons and breathe from the dark,Miasma mist to make the sun-rise dim.
When hurled from heaven, 'tis thought, the fiends of prideCaught Earth to brake their fall. The regions gaveAnd sank with all the hosts beneath the wave!'Tis in those sunken regions which divideThe new world of the resolute and brave,From the old world of king and abject slave,Where Torries, counterfeiting Satan, hide.
When hurled from heaven, 'tis thought, the fiends of pride
Caught Earth to brake their fall. The regions gave
And sank with all the hosts beneath the wave!
'Tis in those sunken regions which divide
The new world of the resolute and brave,
From the old world of king and abject slave,
Where Torries, counterfeiting Satan, hide.
Clinging, like lava, to a lifeless limb,They think the phosphorescence of the barkIs morning, which the long-belated larkIs hastening to welcome with his hymn;Else, they form poisons and breathe from the dark,Miasma mist to make the sun-rise dim.
Clinging, like lava, to a lifeless limb,
They think the phosphorescence of the bark
Is morning, which the long-belated lark
Is hastening to welcome with his hymn;
Else, they form poisons and breathe from the dark,
Miasma mist to make the sun-rise dim.
Old Guard of Boston! Halt; Right Face; Attention!Order One: quell the weeds in rankest riotWhere lies Elisha Brown, in conscience, quiet.This Brown was John's precursor. Ye, on pensionFor ancient glory, now do duty. MentionElisha's name for countersign—and why, it?Because with him, wrong, seen, was to defy it,And act, else, was beyond his comprehension.Against his home's invasion this man heldA red-coat regiment for seventeen days,Which was a spark to help start freedom's blazeAnd, therefore, Order Two: the weeds all quelled,Stand sentries till a statue takes your placeAnd throngs shout, "Bravo, Brown!" as 'tis unveiled!
Old Guard of Boston! Halt; Right Face; Attention!Order One: quell the weeds in rankest riotWhere lies Elisha Brown, in conscience, quiet.This Brown was John's precursor. Ye, on pensionFor ancient glory, now do duty. MentionElisha's name for countersign—and why, it?Because with him, wrong, seen, was to defy it,And act, else, was beyond his comprehension.
Old Guard of Boston! Halt; Right Face; Attention!
Order One: quell the weeds in rankest riot
Where lies Elisha Brown, in conscience, quiet.
This Brown was John's precursor. Ye, on pension
For ancient glory, now do duty. Mention
Elisha's name for countersign—and why, it?
Because with him, wrong, seen, was to defy it,
And act, else, was beyond his comprehension.
Against his home's invasion this man heldA red-coat regiment for seventeen days,Which was a spark to help start freedom's blazeAnd, therefore, Order Two: the weeds all quelled,Stand sentries till a statue takes your placeAnd throngs shout, "Bravo, Brown!" as 'tis unveiled!
Against his home's invasion this man held
A red-coat regiment for seventeen days,
Which was a spark to help start freedom's blaze
And, therefore, Order Two: the weeds all quelled,
Stand sentries till a statue takes your place
And throngs shout, "Bravo, Brown!" as 'tis unveiled!
What is it that today we celebrateWith school recital, banquet and paradeOf our achievements, pageanting each trade?The ousting of the English—train and trait—And posting, then, sharp-eyed, eternal hateTo watch with Josuah's son above his head,That night come not to help them re-invade,However wide, we swing our ocean gate.If not un-Englishing America in mindAnd heart forever, vain the shrieksOf Freedom, eagling back to dawn's first streaks.Oh, yea, the sun stands, and the night afarHolds Thrall, whose craft would swamp our noblest peaksAnd leave but bubbling mud show where they are!
What is it that today we celebrateWith school recital, banquet and paradeOf our achievements, pageanting each trade?The ousting of the English—train and trait—And posting, then, sharp-eyed, eternal hateTo watch with Josuah's son above his head,That night come not to help them re-invade,However wide, we swing our ocean gate.
What is it that today we celebrate
With school recital, banquet and parade
Of our achievements, pageanting each trade?
The ousting of the English—train and trait—
And posting, then, sharp-eyed, eternal hate
To watch with Josuah's son above his head,
That night come not to help them re-invade,
However wide, we swing our ocean gate.
If not un-Englishing America in mindAnd heart forever, vain the shrieksOf Freedom, eagling back to dawn's first streaks.Oh, yea, the sun stands, and the night afarHolds Thrall, whose craft would swamp our noblest peaksAnd leave but bubbling mud show where they are!
If not un-Englishing America in mind
And heart forever, vain the shrieks
Of Freedom, eagling back to dawn's first streaks.
Oh, yea, the sun stands, and the night afar
Holds Thrall, whose craft would swamp our noblest peaks
And leave but bubbling mud show where they are!
Manhatta! Glory flings his arms round theeAnd proudly holds thee in his high caress.What charms him, Mother, is thy noblenessOf spirit. How his features beam to seeThy scorn dash in the bay the tyrant's tea,And hear thee call to Boston: "Do no less;Else on sunlight, heart, soul—all we possess—Will tyrant's next exact their deadly fee."In thee I glory. Can the world else boastA harbor, like thy heart, for every sailIn flight from sea-toss, white with horror's gale,Or icebergs from despondence Polar coast?Oh, fleets whose throngs, glad Freedom well may hail;For, landing, they became her staunchest host.
Manhatta! Glory flings his arms round theeAnd proudly holds thee in his high caress.What charms him, Mother, is thy noblenessOf spirit. How his features beam to seeThy scorn dash in the bay the tyrant's tea,And hear thee call to Boston: "Do no less;Else on sunlight, heart, soul—all we possess—Will tyrant's next exact their deadly fee."
Manhatta! Glory flings his arms round thee
And proudly holds thee in his high caress.
What charms him, Mother, is thy nobleness
Of spirit. How his features beam to see
Thy scorn dash in the bay the tyrant's tea,
And hear thee call to Boston: "Do no less;
Else on sunlight, heart, soul—all we possess—
Will tyrant's next exact their deadly fee."
In thee I glory. Can the world else boastA harbor, like thy heart, for every sailIn flight from sea-toss, white with horror's gale,Or icebergs from despondence Polar coast?Oh, fleets whose throngs, glad Freedom well may hail;For, landing, they became her staunchest host.
In thee I glory. Can the world else boast
A harbor, like thy heart, for every sail
In flight from sea-toss, white with horror's gale,
Or icebergs from despondence Polar coast?
Oh, fleets whose throngs, glad Freedom well may hail;
For, landing, they became her staunchest host.
With what wild glee, the British set on fireYon Capital, beholding in its flames,America, robed in her deeds and fames,In death throes at the stake of England's ire?Though that was long ago and, then no pyre,The stake still stands; 'tis Anglo-Saxon claims,And Arnolds, bearing infamy's last names,Tilt schools to raise the stake flames high and higher.Oh, sight to strike the coming ages dead,My country, were a cloud, thy mocking crown,And schools, ignited by Truth's lamps hurled down,To feed that cloud, like craters, inly red!What! mock with cloud, Thy land and sea renownAnd Washington, God's Holy Spirit—knownBy the unerring World Light, that it shed?
With what wild glee, the British set on fireYon Capital, beholding in its flames,America, robed in her deeds and fames,In death throes at the stake of England's ire?Though that was long ago and, then no pyre,The stake still stands; 'tis Anglo-Saxon claims,And Arnolds, bearing infamy's last names,Tilt schools to raise the stake flames high and higher.
With what wild glee, the British set on fire
Yon Capital, beholding in its flames,
America, robed in her deeds and fames,
In death throes at the stake of England's ire?
Though that was long ago and, then no pyre,
The stake still stands; 'tis Anglo-Saxon claims,
And Arnolds, bearing infamy's last names,
Tilt schools to raise the stake flames high and higher.
Oh, sight to strike the coming ages dead,My country, were a cloud, thy mocking crown,And schools, ignited by Truth's lamps hurled down,To feed that cloud, like craters, inly red!What! mock with cloud, Thy land and sea renownAnd Washington, God's Holy Spirit—knownBy the unerring World Light, that it shed?
Oh, sight to strike the coming ages dead,
My country, were a cloud, thy mocking crown,
And schools, ignited by Truth's lamps hurled down,
To feed that cloud, like craters, inly red!
What! mock with cloud, Thy land and sea renown
And Washington, God's Holy Spirit—known
By the unerring World Light, that it shed?
Behold Ye Here the Happy Hunting Grounds,Where the Great Spirit, called Democracy,Sets every heart and soul forever free,An Equity, not royal grant, sets bounds.No Phaeton attempting Phoebus roundsAnd burning up earth's grass and forestry,Is lust for power; 'tis love for liberty,With bloom and birds for wheel-sparks, here resounds.It is the land of Spirit. "Ye who enter,Abandon first all fratricidal hate,"Proclaims the edict, blazoned o'er each gate.There see all tribes chase truth to joy—the centerConvexing broad and broader, as more greatTheir numbers from where prejudice is mentor.
Behold Ye Here the Happy Hunting Grounds,Where the Great Spirit, called Democracy,Sets every heart and soul forever free,An Equity, not royal grant, sets bounds.No Phaeton attempting Phoebus roundsAnd burning up earth's grass and forestry,Is lust for power; 'tis love for liberty,With bloom and birds for wheel-sparks, here resounds.
Behold Ye Here the Happy Hunting Grounds,
Where the Great Spirit, called Democracy,
Sets every heart and soul forever free,
An Equity, not royal grant, sets bounds.
No Phaeton attempting Phoebus rounds
And burning up earth's grass and forestry,
Is lust for power; 'tis love for liberty,
With bloom and birds for wheel-sparks, here resounds.
It is the land of Spirit. "Ye who enter,Abandon first all fratricidal hate,"Proclaims the edict, blazoned o'er each gate.There see all tribes chase truth to joy—the centerConvexing broad and broader, as more greatTheir numbers from where prejudice is mentor.
It is the land of Spirit. "Ye who enter,
Abandon first all fratricidal hate,"
Proclaims the edict, blazoned o'er each gate.
There see all tribes chase truth to joy—the center
Convexing broad and broader, as more great
Their numbers from where prejudice is mentor.
Hark, 'tis the sea! How leonine its roar!But, oh, how more the lion on a height,As there he glares and listens for the night,Having devoured day's clouds from shore to shore!Now grows his mane of billows, high and hoar.What scents he? Potencies escaping sight,Till, like the cold, they icily alightUpon a land where all was spring before.The sun darts under earth and east again,What sees he? First the lion at earth's brinkWith head down to the stream of stars to drink;And then, arising to his zenith ken,Sees that which makes his high, warm spirit sink—The blight to spring, blown here from England's fen.
Hark, 'tis the sea! How leonine its roar!But, oh, how more the lion on a height,As there he glares and listens for the night,Having devoured day's clouds from shore to shore!Now grows his mane of billows, high and hoar.What scents he? Potencies escaping sight,Till, like the cold, they icily alightUpon a land where all was spring before.
Hark, 'tis the sea! How leonine its roar!
But, oh, how more the lion on a height,
As there he glares and listens for the night,
Having devoured day's clouds from shore to shore!
Now grows his mane of billows, high and hoar.
What scents he? Potencies escaping sight,
Till, like the cold, they icily alight
Upon a land where all was spring before.
The sun darts under earth and east again,What sees he? First the lion at earth's brinkWith head down to the stream of stars to drink;And then, arising to his zenith ken,Sees that which makes his high, warm spirit sink—The blight to spring, blown here from England's fen.
The sun darts under earth and east again,
What sees he? First the lion at earth's brink
With head down to the stream of stars to drink;
And then, arising to his zenith ken,
Sees that which makes his high, warm spirit sink—
The blight to spring, blown here from England's fen.
What is the blight to spring that kills the seedAnd raises spectres, so that stars cry "See!"Aghast at forests, white or shadowy?The scorn of human rights, that can but leadThe world from doom to doom! and for what mead?A bronze for rain and rust, or effigyFor nibbling minutes—ah, not hours!—these fleeTo life's progression—truth and kindly deed.Look! How this scorn holds freemen in the dark,Except for a flare at will that, then, the throng,Reduced to dust, may rise and whirl alongThe lift and drop of glitter, without sparkTo set the spring a-crackling with bird song,Till bud and angel both come out to hark!
What is the blight to spring that kills the seedAnd raises spectres, so that stars cry "See!"Aghast at forests, white or shadowy?The scorn of human rights, that can but leadThe world from doom to doom! and for what mead?A bronze for rain and rust, or effigyFor nibbling minutes—ah, not hours!—these fleeTo life's progression—truth and kindly deed.
What is the blight to spring that kills the seed
And raises spectres, so that stars cry "See!"
Aghast at forests, white or shadowy?
The scorn of human rights, that can but lead
The world from doom to doom! and for what mead?
A bronze for rain and rust, or effigy
For nibbling minutes—ah, not hours!—these flee
To life's progression—truth and kindly deed.
Look! How this scorn holds freemen in the dark,Except for a flare at will that, then, the throng,Reduced to dust, may rise and whirl alongThe lift and drop of glitter, without sparkTo set the spring a-crackling with bird song,Till bud and angel both come out to hark!
Look! How this scorn holds freemen in the dark,
Except for a flare at will that, then, the throng,
Reduced to dust, may rise and whirl along
The lift and drop of glitter, without spark
To set the spring a-crackling with bird song,
Till bud and angel both come out to hark!
O Country of the Sun's warm plenteous handTo every germ of virtue, how belowThy progress, mope Gold Mongers to and fro,Who think they're vaulting from sunlight so grand,It forms thy chiefest glory. Closely scanned,They are gross worms, each with the thought to grow"The Conqueror," as staged by Edgar PoeFor darking planets and a world, Last Manned.Those worms that, moving, think they move the earth,Or, under Growth's equestrian statue, thinkThey hold the horse and hero from the brink,Are pitifully not a glance's worth,As of thy glory; they but foul the chink,If not of thee in warming Good to birth.
O Country of the Sun's warm plenteous handTo every germ of virtue, how belowThy progress, mope Gold Mongers to and fro,Who think they're vaulting from sunlight so grand,It forms thy chiefest glory. Closely scanned,They are gross worms, each with the thought to grow"The Conqueror," as staged by Edgar PoeFor darking planets and a world, Last Manned.
O Country of the Sun's warm plenteous hand
To every germ of virtue, how below
Thy progress, mope Gold Mongers to and fro,
Who think they're vaulting from sunlight so grand,
It forms thy chiefest glory. Closely scanned,
They are gross worms, each with the thought to grow
"The Conqueror," as staged by Edgar Poe
For darking planets and a world, Last Manned.
Those worms that, moving, think they move the earth,Or, under Growth's equestrian statue, thinkThey hold the horse and hero from the brink,Are pitifully not a glance's worth,As of thy glory; they but foul the chink,If not of thee in warming Good to birth.
Those worms that, moving, think they move the earth,
Or, under Growth's equestrian statue, think
They hold the horse and hero from the brink,
Are pitifully not a glance's worth,
As of thy glory; they but foul the chink,
If not of thee in warming Good to birth.
How weird a whisper! 'tis from Wallabout.'Tis glory hoarse with calling: "Raise those hulksWhere writhe my faithful." See! the tory skulksBehind the sun who, stooping to fill outTheir throats with his god-breath, to swell the shoutOf a free people, finds the brave in bulks,Strewn and held fast where Darkness, beaten, sulksThat thrall has been forever put to rout.Those mangled thousands are not dead; they live,Refashioned men by freedom. Is the toryBehind the sun, to mock me, who am Glory,Being the lifted life those martyrs give?He creeps beneath the sun and, ghastly gory,Crys out: "Thou yet shall be the fugitive".
How weird a whisper! 'tis from Wallabout.'Tis glory hoarse with calling: "Raise those hulksWhere writhe my faithful." See! the tory skulksBehind the sun who, stooping to fill outTheir throats with his god-breath, to swell the shoutOf a free people, finds the brave in bulks,Strewn and held fast where Darkness, beaten, sulksThat thrall has been forever put to rout.
How weird a whisper! 'tis from Wallabout.
'Tis glory hoarse with calling: "Raise those hulks
Where writhe my faithful." See! the tory skulks
Behind the sun who, stooping to fill out
Their throats with his god-breath, to swell the shout
Of a free people, finds the brave in bulks,
Strewn and held fast where Darkness, beaten, sulks
That thrall has been forever put to rout.
Those mangled thousands are not dead; they live,Refashioned men by freedom. Is the toryBehind the sun, to mock me, who am Glory,Being the lifted life those martyrs give?He creeps beneath the sun and, ghastly gory,Crys out: "Thou yet shall be the fugitive".
Those mangled thousands are not dead; they live,
Refashioned men by freedom. Is the tory
Behind the sun, to mock me, who am Glory,
Being the lifted life those martyrs give?
He creeps beneath the sun and, ghastly gory,
Crys out: "Thou yet shall be the fugitive".
Oh, weirder grows the whisper into word,As sharp as lightening, and as broad of reach,As seas, flung down by God to every beachWhere thirsts a sparrow, or a bleating herd!There is no soul through out the land, not stirred;For, oh, to glory God gives his own speechWhen darkness, raised by Gold, declares that each,Hulk-held, is good but for the wolf and bird.Is Gold grown conscious, now the Country's KingThat, at his beck, the blood for Freedom spiltShall be accursed, and I, then, for the guiltOf dropping not with thud, as he with ringAt Darkness' feet, be shut in mud and siltForever and with stars, cease, beaconing?
Oh, weirder grows the whisper into word,As sharp as lightening, and as broad of reach,As seas, flung down by God to every beachWhere thirsts a sparrow, or a bleating herd!There is no soul through out the land, not stirred;For, oh, to glory God gives his own speechWhen darkness, raised by Gold, declares that each,Hulk-held, is good but for the wolf and bird.
Oh, weirder grows the whisper into word,
As sharp as lightening, and as broad of reach,
As seas, flung down by God to every beach
Where thirsts a sparrow, or a bleating herd!
There is no soul through out the land, not stirred;
For, oh, to glory God gives his own speech
When darkness, raised by Gold, declares that each,
Hulk-held, is good but for the wolf and bird.
Is Gold grown conscious, now the Country's KingThat, at his beck, the blood for Freedom spiltShall be accursed, and I, then, for the guiltOf dropping not with thud, as he with ringAt Darkness' feet, be shut in mud and siltForever and with stars, cease, beaconing?
Is Gold grown conscious, now the Country's King
That, at his beck, the blood for Freedom spilt
Shall be accursed, and I, then, for the guilt
Of dropping not with thud, as he with ring
At Darkness' feet, be shut in mud and silt
Forever and with stars, cease, beaconing?
Oh, as the earth in discord and in dark,When struck by Love on high with will for mace,Keeps rattling till each mote finds its true place,And mountain, fledged with groves, vies with the larkTo reach the sunrise; so the madness starkOf gold, dethroning blood as God's best grace,When struck by Glory's voice drops Nadir-base,And blood for Freedom spilt, forms heaven's blue arc.The shouts of millions shake Oblivion's mireAnd raise Thrall's Hulks. Look! Justice's stooping sun,Seeing in agony's each, a Washington,Breaths life in them, and, over Brooklyn's spireAnd New York's Babel Tower, they, one by one,Hold Liberty's broading Torch of quenchless fire.
Oh, as the earth in discord and in dark,When struck by Love on high with will for mace,Keeps rattling till each mote finds its true place,And mountain, fledged with groves, vies with the larkTo reach the sunrise; so the madness starkOf gold, dethroning blood as God's best grace,When struck by Glory's voice drops Nadir-base,And blood for Freedom spilt, forms heaven's blue arc.
Oh, as the earth in discord and in dark,
When struck by Love on high with will for mace,
Keeps rattling till each mote finds its true place,
And mountain, fledged with groves, vies with the lark
To reach the sunrise; so the madness stark
Of gold, dethroning blood as God's best grace,
When struck by Glory's voice drops Nadir-base,
And blood for Freedom spilt, forms heaven's blue arc.
The shouts of millions shake Oblivion's mireAnd raise Thrall's Hulks. Look! Justice's stooping sun,Seeing in agony's each, a Washington,Breaths life in them, and, over Brooklyn's spireAnd New York's Babel Tower, they, one by one,Hold Liberty's broading Torch of quenchless fire.
The shouts of millions shake Oblivion's mire
And raise Thrall's Hulks. Look! Justice's stooping sun,
Seeing in agony's each, a Washington,
Breaths life in them, and, over Brooklyn's spire
And New York's Babel Tower, they, one by one,
Hold Liberty's broading Torch of quenchless fire.
Hate thou not any man, for at the worst,He still is brother. Will a glance not findWhole peoples alchemied from heart and mindTo steal projectiles by a craft, accursedBy Human Nature? Aye, for, as they burstAt dusk, or midnight, slamming Heaven behindAnd crashing Hell wide open, 'tis mankindIs shattered and quick-gulping grave slake thirst.Hate thou no man, but scorn all crafts, that smeltThe heart and mind for huge projectiles, shatteredWhen bursting grandly that some pride be flattered.Nature beholds not Saxon, Slav, nor Celt;She only sees the Human fragments scattered,And, covering them, her eyes to rivers melt.
Hate thou not any man, for at the worst,He still is brother. Will a glance not findWhole peoples alchemied from heart and mindTo steal projectiles by a craft, accursedBy Human Nature? Aye, for, as they burstAt dusk, or midnight, slamming Heaven behindAnd crashing Hell wide open, 'tis mankindIs shattered and quick-gulping grave slake thirst.
Hate thou not any man, for at the worst,
He still is brother. Will a glance not find
Whole peoples alchemied from heart and mind
To steal projectiles by a craft, accursed
By Human Nature? Aye, for, as they burst
At dusk, or midnight, slamming Heaven behind
And crashing Hell wide open, 'tis mankind
Is shattered and quick-gulping grave slake thirst.
Hate thou no man, but scorn all crafts, that smeltThe heart and mind for huge projectiles, shatteredWhen bursting grandly that some pride be flattered.Nature beholds not Saxon, Slav, nor Celt;She only sees the Human fragments scattered,And, covering them, her eyes to rivers melt.
Hate thou no man, but scorn all crafts, that smelt
The heart and mind for huge projectiles, shattered
When bursting grandly that some pride be flattered.
Nature beholds not Saxon, Slav, nor Celt;
She only sees the Human fragments scattered,
And, covering them, her eyes to rivers melt.
O Freedom! Have I ever been untrue?When, to thy moan of hunger anywhere,Have I been deaf? Was I not quick to shareMy little, nay, give all! for oh! I knewThy beauty, and my love such passion grewAt thy distresses,—What would I not dare!So, though the bellow, like a grizzly bear,Reared up before me, on to thee I flew.O Freedom! Is thy beauty without heart,Or sense of justice? Unto whom art thouIndebted for thine arm, encircling nowThe world, sun-like, more than to me? My partI glory in, for I have kept my vow.I hold thee now to thine, if true thou art.
O Freedom! Have I ever been untrue?When, to thy moan of hunger anywhere,Have I been deaf? Was I not quick to shareMy little, nay, give all! for oh! I knewThy beauty, and my love such passion grewAt thy distresses,—What would I not dare!So, though the bellow, like a grizzly bear,Reared up before me, on to thee I flew.
O Freedom! Have I ever been untrue?
When, to thy moan of hunger anywhere,
Have I been deaf? Was I not quick to share
My little, nay, give all! for oh! I knew
Thy beauty, and my love such passion grew
At thy distresses,—What would I not dare!
So, though the bellow, like a grizzly bear,
Reared up before me, on to thee I flew.
O Freedom! Is thy beauty without heart,Or sense of justice? Unto whom art thouIndebted for thine arm, encircling nowThe world, sun-like, more than to me? My partI glory in, for I have kept my vow.I hold thee now to thine, if true thou art.
O Freedom! Is thy beauty without heart,
Or sense of justice? Unto whom art thou
Indebted for thine arm, encircling now
The world, sun-like, more than to me? My part
I glory in, for I have kept my vow.
I hold thee now to thine, if true thou art.
Speak Freedom! When a haggard fugitive,Thy dwelling was a swamp, who first to traceThy crimson footprints to thy hiding place?With signs thou hadst not many days to live,I found thee. Had the sun more heart to giveTo warm thee, than I gave? Ah, then and thereThy heart said to my heart; "Ill would I fareWithout thee. I give love for love, believe".Thy silence, when in glory, troubles me.Oh! warm blood dashed back cold, chills to the bone!What do I ask for? Only Erin's own,That which God gave her, and, if true it be,Thou art the minister of justice grown,Thy gratitude should thunder God's decree.
Speak Freedom! When a haggard fugitive,Thy dwelling was a swamp, who first to traceThy crimson footprints to thy hiding place?With signs thou hadst not many days to live,I found thee. Had the sun more heart to giveTo warm thee, than I gave? Ah, then and thereThy heart said to my heart; "Ill would I fareWithout thee. I give love for love, believe".
Speak Freedom! When a haggard fugitive,
Thy dwelling was a swamp, who first to trace
Thy crimson footprints to thy hiding place?
With signs thou hadst not many days to live,
I found thee. Had the sun more heart to give
To warm thee, than I gave? Ah, then and there
Thy heart said to my heart; "Ill would I fare
Without thee. I give love for love, believe".
Thy silence, when in glory, troubles me.Oh! warm blood dashed back cold, chills to the bone!What do I ask for? Only Erin's own,That which God gave her, and, if true it be,Thou art the minister of justice grown,Thy gratitude should thunder God's decree.
Thy silence, when in glory, troubles me.
Oh! warm blood dashed back cold, chills to the bone!
What do I ask for? Only Erin's own,
That which God gave her, and, if true it be,
Thou art the minister of justice grown,
Thy gratitude should thunder God's decree.