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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
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
Put golden padlocks on Truth's lips, be callous as From soul to soul o'er all the world, leaps one
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
And signs to us are offered, as erst to Pharaoh;
yore, Through a Red Sea is doomed to be, whose surges
are of gore.
'Tis ours to save our brethren, with
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
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
'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 ;
The eyes thou givest me
Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee
In the white lily's breezy tent,
Where, as the breezes pass,
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,
That from the distance sparkle through Some woodland gap,—and of a sky above, Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth
My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with The sight of thee calls back the robin's song,
Who, from the dark old tree
And I, secure in childish piety,
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
Did we but pay the love we owe,
Ye who, passing graves by night,
ye sell your God-given lives
See ye not that woman pale ?