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From the brown smith-shop, where, beneath the hammer,
Rings the red steelFrom each and all, if God hath not forsaken
Our land, and left us to an evil choice, Loud as the summer thunderbolt shall waken
A People's voice Startling and stern! the Northern winds shall
bear it Over Potomac's to St. Mary's wave; And buried Freedom shall awake to hear it
Within her grave. Oh, let that voice go forth! The bondman sighing
By Santee's wave, in Mississippi's cane, Shall feel the hope, within his bosom dying,
Let it go forth! The millions who are gazing
Sadly upon us from afar, shall smile,
Bless us the while.
Oh, for your ancient freedom, pure and holy,
For the deliverance of a groaning earth, For the wronged captive, bleeding, crushed, and lowly,
Sons of the best of fathers ! will ye falter
With all they left ye perilled and at stake ? Ho! once again on Freedom's holy altar
The fire awake!
Prayer-strengthened for the trial, come together,
Put on the harness for the moral fight, And, with the blessing of your Heavenly Father,
MAINTAIN THE RIGHT!
THE CURSE OF THE CHARTER
In Westminster's royal halls,
“Whoso lays his hand on these,
“ Thou, who to thy Church hast given
Silent, while that curse was said,
Seven times the bells have tolled,
Since the priesthood, like a tower,
Gone, thank God, their wizard spell,
Now, too oft the priesthood wait
Tell me not that this must be: God's true priest is always free ; Free, the needed truth to speak, Right the
and raise the weak.
Not to fawn on wealth and state,
Leaving Lazarus at the gateNot to peddle creeds like waresNot to mutter hireling prayers Nor to paint the new life's bliss Golden streets for idle knave,
On the sable ground of this
rest for weary slave!
Thine to work as well as pray
Catching gleams of temple spires,
Like the seer of Patmos gazing,
THE SLAVES OF MARTINIQUE.
SUGGESTED BY A DAGUERREOTYPE FROM A FRENCH ENGRAVING.
BEAMS of noon, like burning lances, through the
tree-tops flash and glisten, As she stands before her lover, with raised face to
look and listen.
Dark, but comely, like the maiden in the ancient Scarcely has the toil of task-fields done her graceful
beauty wrong. He, the strong one and the manly, with the vassalo
arb and hue, Holding still his spirit's birthright, to his higher
Hiding deep the strengthening purpose of a free
man in his heart, As the greegree holds his Fetich from the white
man's gaze apart. Ever foremost of his comrades, when the drivers
morning horn Calls away to stifling mill-house, to the fields of
cane and corn: