 | Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne |  |
ASSASSINATION.
O blinded readers of the scroll of time,
Think ye that freedom yields her hand to crime?
Think ye that freedom yields her hand to crime?
Or the fair whiteness of her virginal bud
Of heavenly hope, would desecrate with blood?
Of heavenly hope, would desecrate with blood?
307
Her eyes are chastened lightnings, and the fire
Of her divinely purified desire
Of her divinely purified desire
Burns not in ambush by assassins trod,
But on the holiest mountain heights of God!
But on the holiest mountain heights of God!
So, ye that fain would meet her fond embrace,
Purge the base soul, unmask the treacherous face,
Purge the base soul, unmask the treacherous face,
Drop bowl or dagger while ye bring her naught
But the grand worship of a selfless thought!
But the grand worship of a selfless thought!
| Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne | |