| WHEN a deed is done for Freedom, through
the broad earth's aching breast |
|
| Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to
west, |
|
| And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within him
climb |
|
| To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime |
|
| Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of
Time. |
5 |
| |
| Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the instantaneous
throe, |
|
| When the travail of the Ages wrings earth's systems to and
fro; |
|
| At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start, |
|
| Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute lips apart, |
|
| And glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps beneath the
Future's heart. |
10 |
| |
| So the Evil's triumph sendeth, with a terror and a chill, |
|
| Under continent to continent, the sense of coming ill, |
|
| And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his sympathies with
God |
|
| In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be drunk up by the
sod, |
|
| Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the nobler
clod. |
15 |
| |
| For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along, |
|
| Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or
wrong; |
|
| Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast frame |
|
| Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or
shame; |
|
| In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal
claim. |
20 |
| |
| Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, |
|
| In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil
side; |
|
| Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or
blight, |
|
| Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the
right, |
|
| And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that
light. |
25 |
| |
| Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt
stand, |
|
| Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our
land? |
|
| Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 't is Truth alone is
strong, |
|
| And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng |
|
| Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all
wrong. |
30 |
| |
| Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments see, |
|
| That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion's
sea; |
|
| Not an ear in court or market for the low, foreboding cry |
|
| Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet earth's
chaff must fly; |
|
| Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed
by. |
35 |
| |
| Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record |
|
| One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the
Word; |
|
| Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne, |
|
| Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim
unknown, |
|
| Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own. |
40 |
| |
| We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is great, |
|
| Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate, |
|
| But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's din, |
|
| List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave within, |
|
| "They enslave their children's children who make compromise with
sin." |
45 |
| |
| Slavery, the earth-born Cyclops, fellest of the giant brood, |
|
| Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched the earth
with blood, |
|
| Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer day, |
|
| Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable prey; |
|
| Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless children
play? |
50 |
| |
| Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched
crust, |
|
| Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 't is prosperous to be
just; |
|
| Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands
aside, |
|
| Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified, |
|
| And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied. |
55 |
| |
| Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes,they were souls that stood
alone, |
|
| While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious
stone, |
|
| Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline |
|
| To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith
divine, |
|
| By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme
design. |
60 |
| |
| By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I
track, |
|
| Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not
back, |
|
| And these mounts of anguish number how each generation
learned |
|
| One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet-hearts
hath burned |
|
| Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven
upturned. |
65 |
| |
| For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands, |
|
| On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands; |
|
| Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots
burn, |
|
| While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return |
|
| To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn. |
70 |
| |
| 'T is as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves |
|
| Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves, |
|
| Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a
crime; |
|
| Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind
their time? |
|
| Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that made Plymouth Rock
sublime? |
75 |
| |
| They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts, |
|
| Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past's; |
|
| But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath made
us free, |
|
| Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits
flee |
|
| The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them across the
sea. |
80 |
| |
| They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our
sires, |
|
| Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar-fires; |
|
| Shall we make their creed our jailer? Shall we, in our haste to
slay, |
|
| From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps
away |
|
| To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day? |
85 |
| |
| New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good
uncouth; |
|
| They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of
Truth; |
|
| Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims
be, |
|
| Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate
winter sea, |
|
| Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted
key. |
90 |