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147

RIGHTS.

I heard a voice cry through the night,
Crying from off some lonely height,
A gently earnest cry for Right.
Through the sad sweetness of that voice
A stifled echo did rejoice,
As if the sadness were of choice.
And all along the south-wind spread,
With scents and dews its tones were shed,
Shadowed with vagueness, not with dread.
But gathering more articulate,
Breathless I heard soft lips relate
The grievance of their mortal state.
“I will have Right! my right to be
First in all love-borne ministry;
The spring beneath thy roots, O tree!
“My right, when toiling and dismay
Oppress the burdened noon of day,
To freshen it with salt sea-spray.

148

“To be, when hearts shall fail for fear,
Seeing eclipse of suns draw near,
A star-shine in the darkness clear.
“To be, in this world-beaten dust,
A still evangelist of trust,
Waving white wings before the just.
“My right to stand beside the dead,
With hands upon the living head,
Both unto rest eternal led.
“My right to pure child-tears and smiles,
To baby-love and tender wiles,
Hope, that the weariest heart beguiles.
“I will not have thy place, O man!
By petronel and barbican,
Or reeking in the battle's van.
“My strength against the ruder foe,
I will be thine beneath the blow,
My right to love, and thine to know.”