Yet governors and governed both are blind Past, future, shrinking up beneath the incumbent If cowardly concession still must feed The thirst for power in men who ne'er concede, Lost people, trained to theoretic feud! Lost above all, ye laboring multitude! Bewildered, whether ye, by slanderous tongues Deceived, mistake calamities for wrongs, And over fancied usurpations brood, Oft snapping at revenge in sullen mood; Or, from long stress of real injuries, fly To desperation for a remedy, In bursts of outrage spread your judgments wide, And to your wrath cry out, "Be thou our guide"; Or, bound by oaths, come forth to tread earth's floor In marshalled thousands, darkening street and moor With the worst shape mock-patience ever wore ; Or, to the giddy top of self-esteem By Flatterers carried, mount into a dream Of boundless suffrage, at whose sage behest Justice shall rule, disorder be supprest, And every man sit down as Plenty's Guest! To stop your Leaders in their headstrong course! To hope, and makes truth willing to be seen! We act as if we joyed in the sad tune Storms make in rising, valued in the moon Nought but her changes. Thus, ungrateful Nation! If thou persist, and, scorning moderation, Spread for thyself the snares of tribulation, Whom, then, shall meekness guard? What saving skill Lie in forbearance, strength in standing still? Soon shall the widow. (for the speed of Time Naught equals when the hours are winged with crime,) Widow, or wife, implore on tremulous knee, But turn, my Soul, and from the sleeping pair Learn thou the beauty of omniscient care! Be strong in faith, bid anxious thoughts lie still; Seek for the good and cherish it, — the ill Oppose, or bear with a submissive will. 1883. XXXVI. Ir this great world of joy and pain If freedom, set, will rise again, XXXVII. THE LABORER'S NOONDAY HYMN. Up to the throne of God is borne Nor will he turn his ear aside What though our burden be not light, Blest are the moments, doubly blest, Each field is then a hallowed spot, A church in every grove that spreads Look up to Heaven! the industrious Sun He cannot halt nor go astray, Lord! since his rising in the east, Help with thy grace, through life's short day; Our upward and our downward way; And glorify for us the west, When we shall sink to final rest. XXXVIII. 1834. ODE, COMPOSED ON MAY MORNING. WHILE from the purpling east departs A quickening hope, a freshening glee, Whose first-drawn breath from bush and tree Shakes off that pearly shower. |