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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 ac

cursed ; 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 all

beholding 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 From soul to soul o'er all the world, leaps one

electric thrill.

ye will,

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 ʼtis decreed our slaves

shall go,

And signs to us are offered, as erst to Pharaoh;
If we are blind, their exodus, like Israel's of

yore, Through a Red Sea is doomed to be, whose surges

are of gore.

'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,

First pledge of blithesome May, Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold,

High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they An Eldorado in the grass have found,

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 ;
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime;

The eyes thou givest me
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time :

Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee
Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment

In the white lily's breezy tent,
His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.
Then think I of deep shadows on the grass,
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,

Where, as the breezes pass,
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, -

Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,
Or whiten in the wind,—of waters blue

That from the distance sparkle through Some woodland gap,—and of a sky above, Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth

move.

thee;

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with The sight of thee calls back the robin's song,

Who, from the dark old tree
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long,

And I, secure in childish piety,
Listened as if I heard an angel sing

With news from heaven, which he could bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears, When birds and flowers and I were happy peers.

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
Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show,

Did we but pay the love we owe,
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look
On all these living pages of God's book.

THE GHOST-SEER.

Ye who, passing graves by night,
Glance not to the left nor right,
Lest a spirit should arise,
Cold and white, to freeze your eyes,
Some weak phantom, which your doubt
Shapes upon the dark without
From the dark within, a guess
At the spirit's deathlessness,
Which ye entertain with fear
In your self-built dungeon here,
Where

ye sell your God-given lives
Just for gold to buy you gyves,
Ye without a shudder meet
In the city's noonday street,
Spirits sadder and more dread
Than from out the clay have fled,
Buried, beyond hope of light,
In the body's haunted night!

See ye not that woman pale ?
There are bloodhounds on her trail !
Bloodhounds two, all gaunt and lean,-
For the soul their scent is keen,-
Want and Sin, and Sin is last, —
They have followed far and fast;
Want gave tongue, and, at her howl,
Sin awakened with a growl.
Ah, poor girl! she had a right
To a blessing from the light,
Title-deeds to sky and earth
God gave to her at her birth,
But, before they were enjoyed,

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