Yet governors and governed both are blind
To this plain truth, or fling it to the wind;
If to expedience principle must bow,
Past, future, shrinking up beneath the incumbent
Now ;
If cowardly concession still must feed
The thirst for power in men who ne'er concede,
Nor turn aside, unless to shape a way
For domination at some riper day;
If generous Loyalty must stand in awe
Of subtle Treason, in his mask of law,
Or with bravado insolent and hard
Provoking punishment, to win reward;
If office help the factious to conspire,
And they who should extinguish fan the fire,-
Then will the sceptre be a straw, the crown
Sit loosely, like the thistle's crest of down,
To be blown off at will, by Power that spares it
In cunning patience, from the head that wears it.
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!
O for a bridle bitted with remorse
To stop your Leaders in their headstrong course!
O may the Almighty scatter with his grace
These mists, and lead you to a safer place,
By paths no human wisdom can foretrace!
May He
pour round you, from worlds far above Man's feverish passions, his pure light of love, That quietly restores the natural mien
To hope, and makes truth willing to be seen!
Else shall your blood-stained hands in frenzy reap
Fields gayly sown when promises were cheap. -
Why is the Past belied with wicked art,
The Future made to play so false a part,
Among a people famed for strength of mind,
Foremost in freedom, noblest of mankind?
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
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,
From him who judged her lord, a like decree;
The skies will weep o'er'old men desolate :
Ye little-ones! Earth shudders at your fate,
Outcasts and homeless orphans -
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.
If this great world of joy and pain
Revolve in one sure track;
If freedom, set, will rise again,
And virtue, flown, come back;
Woe to the purblind crew who fill
The heart with each day's care;
Nor gain, from past or future, skill
To bear, and to forbear!
THE LABORER'S NOONDAY HYMN.
Up to the throne of God is borne
The voice of praise at early morn,
And he accepts the punctual hymn
Sung as the light of day grows dim.
Nor will he turn his ear aside
From holy offerings at noontide:
Then, here reposing, let us raise
A song of gratitude and praise.
What though our burden be not light,
We need not toil from morn to night;
The respite of the midday hour
Is in the thankful Creature's power.
Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
That, drawn from this one hour of rest,
Are with a ready heart bestowed
Upon the service of our God!
Each field is then a hallowed spot,
An altar is in each man's cot,
A church in every grove that spreads
Its living roof above our heads.
Look up to Heaven! the industrious Sun
Already half his race hath run;
He cannot halt nor go astray,
But our immortal Spirits may.
Lord! since his rising in the east,
If we have faltered or transgressed,
Guide, from thy love's abundant source,
What yet remains of this day's course :
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.
WHILE from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,
Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts,
For May is on the lawn.
A quickening hope, a freshening glee,
For ran the expected Power,
Whose first-drawn breath from bush and tree
Shakes off that pearly shower.
|