That makes us cringe and temporize, and dumbly stand at rest, While Pity's burning flood of words is red-hot in the breast! Though we break our fathers' promise, we have nobler duties first; The traitor to Humanity is the traitor most accursed; Man is more than Constitutions; better rot beneath the sod, Than be true to Church and State while we are doubly false to God! We owe allegiance to the State; but deeper, truer, more, To the sympathies that God hath set within our spirit's core ; Our country claims our fealty; we grant it So, but then Before Man made us citizens, great Nature made us men. He's true to God who's true to man; wherever wrong is done, To the humblest and the weakest, neath the allbeholding sun, That wrong is also done to us; and they are slaves most base, Whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race. God works for all. Ye cannot hem the hope of being free With parallels of latitude, with mountain-range or sea. Put golden padlocks on Truth's lips, be callous as ye will, From soul to soul o'er all the world, leaps one electric thrill. Chain down your slaves with ignorance, ye cannot keep apart, With all your craft of tyranny, the human heart from heart: When first the Pilgrims landed on the Bay-State's iron shore, The word went forth that slavery should one day be no more. Out from the land of bondage 'tis decreed our slaves shall go, And signs to us are offered, as erst to Pharaoh; 'Tis ours to save our brethren, with peace and love to win Their darkened hearts from error, ere they harden it to sin; But if before his duty man with listless spirit stands, Ere long the Great Avenger takes the work from out his hands. TO THE DANDELION. DEAR common flower, that grow'st beside the way, Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold, Which not the rich earth's ample round May match in wealth,-thou art more dear to me Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, Nor wrinkled the lean brow Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease; 'Tis the spring's largess, which she scatters now To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, Though most hearts never understand To take it at God's value, but pass by The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. Thou art my tropics and mine Italy; Are in the heart, and heed not space or time: His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first Then think I of deep shadows on the grass,- The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways,- That from the distance sparkle through move. My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, With news from heaven, which he could bring How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam And with a child's undoubting wisdom look THE GHOST-SEER. YE who, passing graves by night, Cold and white, to freeze your eyes, See ye not that woman pale? |