University of Virginia Library

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WHITTIER

READ AT THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION AT HAVERHILL, DECEMBER 17, 1907

A spirit in our midst abode,
A champion, risking life and limb,
With firm intent to bear the load
That Fate had meted out to him:

The burthen of an evil time
That grieved men's souls with forfeit pledge;
The task, t' assail a nation's crime
With weapon of celestial edge.

For still a son of Peace was he,
Servant and master of the lyre;
All bloodless must his warfare be,
Launched all in love his bolts of fire.

Such victories are given to song
As slaughter never may achieve,
When the rapt soul is wooed from wrong
Some heavenly lesson to receive.

I saw him when the locks that crown
Fair youth were heaped above his brow;

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His eyes like lustrous jewels shone,
The trifler's world they did not know.

Feathered as from an angel's wing
The arrows of his quiver flew;
A thrill of sorrow they might bring,
A wound, and yet a balsam too.

Soon War's wild music filled the land,
And fields of fight were won and lost,
When grieving Conscience made her stand
To pay the debt of deadly cost.

And many were the days of dole
Before the bitter strife could cease.
But ever that anointed soul
Dwelt in its citadel of Peace.

Thence, like an anthem rising clear,
Rang out the poet's helpful word;
Melodious messages of cheer
Above the battle din were heard.

And years of labor came and went,
But ere he passed the bound of Fate
His days were crowned with high content;
He saw his land regenerate.

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