 | Poems |  |
INTRODUCTION.
Why toil where hands have labored well and long,
Through tears, and blood, and pain?
Why sweep the strings of cold, reluctant song,
And sweep them all in vain?
Why yearn where better hearts have gone for nought,
Through sad, disastrous years,
And seek to earn what has not yet been bought
By reason, prayer, and tears?
Through tears, and blood, and pain?
Why sweep the strings of cold, reluctant song,
And sweep them all in vain?
Why yearn where better hearts have gone for nought,
Through sad, disastrous years,
And seek to earn what has not yet been bought
By reason, prayer, and tears?
There is a fearful demon on this earth,
Stalking from land to land;
Where'er he go, he carries woe and dearth,
And blood-red is his hand.
A million corses mark his cruel way,
And lepers, vile and stained,
Who follow at his bidding, while they pray
To have the devil chained!
Stalking from land to land;
Where'er he go, he carries woe and dearth,
And blood-red is his hand.
A million corses mark his cruel way,
And lepers, vile and stained,
Who follow at his bidding, while they pray
To have the devil chained!
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They follow him, with footsteps faint and weak,
Through want, and shame, and guile;
They cling to him, they kiss his bloated cheek,
And curse him all the while.
They shrink in horror from his loathsome den,
They dread its hopeless gloom;
They turn and beg deliverance, and then
Rush headlong to their doom.
Through want, and shame, and guile;
They cling to him, they kiss his bloated cheek,
And curse him all the while.
They shrink in horror from his loathsome den,
They dread its hopeless gloom;
They turn and beg deliverance, and then
Rush headlong to their doom.
The sage has drawn the sword of reason out
Against the crafty foe,
And dealt his foul and loathsome form about,
With many a lusty blow;
The orator has mingled in the fray,
The bard has sung his verse;
But victory lingers long upon the way,
And with us stays the curse!
Against the crafty foe,
And dealt his foul and loathsome form about,
With many a lusty blow;
The orator has mingled in the fray,
The bard has sung his verse;
But victory lingers long upon the way,
And with us stays the curse!
The man of God has raised his tear-stained face
To the Great Priest on high,
And prayed that this fell blight upon our race
Might harmless pass it by;
Yet, for his faith, but slight reward appears;
The guerdon is not won!
Through weary months, and sorrow-laden years,
The fearful work goes on!
To the Great Priest on high,
And prayed that this fell blight upon our race
Might harmless pass it by;
Yet, for his faith, but slight reward appears;
The guerdon is not won!
Through weary months, and sorrow-laden years,
The fearful work goes on!
And women—they whose cautious, trusting lives
Grow thick with hopes and fears,
The mothers, and the sisters, and the wives—
Have lavished their best tears;
But tears, alas! have fallen all in vain,
Or soon to be effaced,
E'en as the dropping of the blessed rain
Upon a desert waste!
Grow thick with hopes and fears,
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Have lavished their best tears;
But tears, alas! have fallen all in vain,
Or soon to be effaced,
E'en as the dropping of the blessed rain
Upon a desert waste!
Is there a country hamlet, that has reared
Its church-spire humbly up,
Where the arch-fiend has not some time appeared,
And brought the poisoned cup?
Is there a township where, on every hand,
The wine-cup holds not slaves?
Is there a church-yard in this “Christian land,”
That counts not drunkards' graves?
Its church-spire humbly up,
Where the arch-fiend has not some time appeared,
And brought the poisoned cup?
Is there a township where, on every hand,
The wine-cup holds not slaves?
Is there a church-yard in this “Christian land,”
That counts not drunkards' graves?
Ay, throned within the loftiest halls of state,
The monster rules the hour,
And in the revels of the rich and great,
He knows his fatal power.
And gifted men, whom we have named and sought
To fill the highest place,
Have turned upon us in their shame, and taught
Us lessons of disgrace!
The monster rules the hour,
And in the revels of the rich and great,
He knows his fatal power.
And gifted men, whom we have named and sought
To fill the highest place,
Have turned upon us in their shame, and taught
Us lessons of disgrace!
Shall we submit? Ask you the widow's groan,
The orphan's helpless cry!
Ask you of those who best the curse have known,
And mark their stern reply!
Shall we submit? Ask you the crumbling bones
Of victims, fallen low,
And listen to the anguished, pleading tones,
That join in answering, “No!”
The orphan's helpless cry!
Ask you of those who best the curse have known,
And mark their stern reply!
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Of victims, fallen low,
And listen to the anguished, pleading tones,
That join in answering, “No!”
By all the glorious records of our race,
Stamped with Jehovah's seal,
By all the humbling lessons of disgrace,
That damp our pride and zeal,
By honest effort, trampled and unknown,
By the glad victor's crown,
By the great truths that deck the Eternal throne,
The monster SHALL go down!
Stamped with Jehovah's seal,
By all the humbling lessons of disgrace,
That damp our pride and zeal,
By honest effort, trampled and unknown,
By the glad victor's crown,
By the great truths that deck the Eternal throne,
The monster SHALL go down!
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