 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
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WAR-MEMORIES.
THE NINETEENTH OF APRIL.
1861.
This year, till late in April, the snow fell thick and light:
Thy truce-flag, friendly Nature, in clinging drifts of white,
Hung over field and city: now everywhere is seen,
In place of that white quietness, a sudden glow of green.
Thy truce-flag, friendly Nature, in clinging drifts of white,
Hung over field and city: now everywhere is seen,
In place of that white quietness, a sudden glow of green.
The verdure climbs the Common, beneath the leafless trees,
To where the glorious Stars and Stripes are floating on the breeze.
There, suddenly as spring awoke from winter's snow-draped gloom,
The Passion-Flower of Seventy-Six is bursting into bloom.
To where the glorious Stars and Stripes are floating on the breeze.
There, suddenly as spring awoke from winter's snow-draped gloom,
The Passion-Flower of Seventy-Six is bursting into bloom.
Dear is the time of roses, when earth to joy is wed,
And garden-plat and meadow wear one generous flush of red;
But now in dearer beauty, to her ancient colors true,
Blooms the old town of Boston in red and white and blue.
And garden-plat and meadow wear one generous flush of red;
But now in dearer beauty, to her ancient colors true,
Blooms the old town of Boston in red and white and blue.
Along the whole awakening North are those bright emblems spread
A summer noon of patriotism is burning overhead:
No party badges flaunting now, no word of clique or clan;
But “Up for God and Union!” is the shout of every man.
A summer noon of patriotism is burning overhead:
No party badges flaunting now, no word of clique or clan;
But “Up for God and Union!” is the shout of every man.
Oh, peace is dear to Northern hearts; our hard-earned homes more dear;
But Freedom is beyond the price of any earthly cheer;
And Freedom's flag is sacred; he who would work it harm,
Let him, although a brother, beware our strong right arm!
But Freedom is beyond the price of any earthly cheer;
And Freedom's flag is sacred; he who would work it harm,
Let him, although a brother, beware our strong right arm!
A brother! ah, the sorrow, the anguish of that word!
The fratricidal strife begun, when will its end be heard?
Not this the boon that patriot hearts have prayed and waited for;—
We loved them, and we longed for peace: but they would have it war.
The fratricidal strife begun, when will its end be heard?
Not this the boon that patriot hearts have prayed and waited for;—
We loved them, and we longed for peace: but they would have it war.
Yes; war! on this memorial day, the day of Lexington,
A lightning-thrill along the wires from heart to heart has run.
Brave men we gazed on yesterday, to-day for us have bled:
Again is Massachusetts blood the first for Freedom shed.
A lightning-thrill along the wires from heart to heart has run.
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Again is Massachusetts blood the first for Freedom shed.
To war,—and with our brethren, then,—if only this can be!
Life hangs as nothing in the scale against dear Liberty!
Though hearts be torn asunder, for Freedom we will fight:
Our blood may seal the victory, but God will shield the Right!
Life hangs as nothing in the scale against dear Liberty!
Though hearts be torn asunder, for Freedom we will fight:
Our blood may seal the victory, but God will shield the Right!
THE SINKING OF THE MERRIMACK.
MAY, 1862.
Gone down in the flood, and gone out in the flame!
What else could she do, with her fair Northern name?
Her font was a river whose last drop is free:
That river ran boiling with wrath to the sea,
To hear of her baptismal blessing profaned:
A name that was Freedom's, by treachery stained.
What else could she do, with her fair Northern name?
Her font was a river whose last drop is free:
That river ran boiling with wrath to the sea,
To hear of her baptismal blessing profaned:
A name that was Freedom's, by treachery stained.
'T was the voice of our free Northern mountains that broke
In the sound of her guns, from her stout ribs of oak:
'T was the might of the free Northern hand you could feel
In her sweep and her moulding, from topmast to keel:
When they made her speak treason, (does Hell know of worse?)
How her strong timbers shook with the shame of her curse!
In the sound of her guns, from her stout ribs of oak:
'T was the might of the free Northern hand you could feel
In her sweep and her moulding, from topmast to keel:
When they made her speak treason, (does Hell know of worse?)
How her strong timbers shook with the shame of her curse!
Let her go! Should a deck so polluted again
Ever ring to the tread of our true Northern men?
Let the suicide-ship thunder forth, to the air
And the sea she has blotted, her groan of despair!
Let her last heat of anguish throb out into flame!
Then sink them together,—the ship and the name!
Ever ring to the tread of our true Northern men?
Let the suicide-ship thunder forth, to the air
And the sea she has blotted, her groan of despair!
Let her last heat of anguish throb out into flame!
Then sink them together,—the ship and the name!
WEAVING.
All day she stands before her loom;
The flying shuttles come and go:
By grassy fields, and trees in bloom,
She sees the winding river flow:
And fancy's shuttle flieth wide,
And faster than the waters glide.
The flying shuttles come and go:
By grassy fields, and trees in bloom,
She sees the winding river flow:
And fancy's shuttle flieth wide,
And faster than the waters glide.
Is she entangled in her dreams,
Like that fair weaver of Shalott,
Who left her mystic mirror's gleams,
To gaze on light Sir Lancelot?
Her heart, a mirror sadly true,
Brings gloomier visions into view.
Like that fair weaver of Shalott,
Who left her mystic mirror's gleams,
To gaze on light Sir Lancelot?
Her heart, a mirror sadly true,
Brings gloomier visions into view.
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“I weave, and weave, the livelong day:
The woof is strong, the warp is good:
I weave, to be my mother's stay;
I weave, to win my daily food:
But ever as I weave,” saith she,
“The world of women haunteth me.
The woof is strong, the warp is good:
I weave, to be my mother's stay;
I weave, to win my daily food:
But ever as I weave,” saith she,
“The world of women haunteth me.
“The river glides along, one thread
In nature's mesh, so beautiful!
The stars are woven in; the red
Of sunrise; and the rain-cloud dull.
Each seems a separate wonder wrought;
Each blends with some more wondrous thought.
In nature's mesh, so beautiful!
The stars are woven in; the red
Of sunrise; and the rain-cloud dull.
Each seems a separate wonder wrought;
Each blends with some more wondrous thought.
“So, at the loom of life, we weave
Our separate shreds, that varying fall,
Some stained, some fair; and, passing, leave
To God the gathering up of all,
In that full pattern, wherein man
Works blindly out the eternal plan.
Our separate shreds, that varying fall,
Some stained, some fair; and, passing, leave
To God the gathering up of all,
In that full pattern, wherein man
Works blindly out the eternal plan.
“In his vast work, for good or ill,
The undone and the done he blends:
With whatsoever woof we fill,
To our weak hands His might He lends,
And gives the threads beneath His eye
The texture of eternity.
The undone and the done he blends:
With whatsoever woof we fill,
To our weak hands His might He lends,
And gives the threads beneath His eye
The texture of eternity.
“Wind on, by willow and by pine,
Thou blue, untroubled Merrimack!
Afar, by sunnier streams than thine,
My sisters toil, with foreheads black;
And water with their blood this root,
Whereof we gather bounteous fruit.
Thou blue, untroubled Merrimack!
Afar, by sunnier streams than thine,
My sisters toil, with foreheads black;
And water with their blood this root,
Whereof we gather bounteous fruit.
“I think of women sad and poor;
Women who walk in garments soiled:
Their shame, their sorrow, I endure;
By their defect my hope is foiled:
The blot they bear is on my name;
Who sins, and I am not to blame?
Women who walk in garments soiled:
Their shame, their sorrow, I endure;
By their defect my hope is foiled:
The blot they bear is on my name;
Who sins, and I am not to blame?
“And how much of your wrong is mine,
Dark women slaving at the South?
Of your stolen grapes I quaff the wine;
The bread you starve for fills my mouth:
The beam unwinds, but every thread
With blood of strangled souls is red.
Dark women slaving at the South?
Of your stolen grapes I quaff the wine;
The bread you starve for fills my mouth:
The beam unwinds, but every thread
With blood of strangled souls is red.
“If this be so, we win and wear
A Nessus-robe of poisoned cloth;
Or weave them shrouds they may not wear,—
Fathers and brothers falling both
On ghastly, death-sown fields, that lie
Beneath the tearless Southern sky.
A Nessus-robe of poisoned cloth;
Or weave them shrouds they may not wear,—
Fathers and brothers falling both
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Beneath the tearless Southern sky.
“Alas! the weft has lost its white.
It grows a hideous tapestry,
That pictures war's abhorrent sight:
Unroll not, web of destiny!
Be the dark volume left unread,
The tale untold, the curse unsaid!”
It grows a hideous tapestry,
That pictures war's abhorrent sight:
Unroll not, web of destiny!
Be the dark volume left unread,
The tale untold, the curse unsaid!”
So up and down before her loom
She paces on, and to and fro,
Till sunset fills the dusty room,
And makes the water redly glow,
As if the Merrimack's calm flood
Were changed into a stream of blood.
She paces on, and to and fro,
Till sunset fills the dusty room,
And makes the water redly glow,
As if the Merrimack's calm flood
Were changed into a stream of blood.
Too soon fulfilled, and all too true
The words she murmured as she wrought:
But, weary weaver, not to you
Alone was war's stern message brought:
“Woman!” it knelled from heart to heart,
“Thy sister's keeper know thou art!”
The words she murmured as she wrought:
But, weary weaver, not to you
Alone was war's stern message brought:
“Woman!” it knelled from heart to heart,
“Thy sister's keeper know thou art!”
WAITING FOR NEWS.
JULY 4, 1863.
At the corner of the lane,
Where we stood this time last year,
Droops and waves the ripening grain;
Sounds the meadow-lark's refrain,
Just as sad and clear.
Where we stood this time last year,
Droops and waves the ripening grain;
Sounds the meadow-lark's refrain,
Just as sad and clear.
Cornel-trees let blossoms fall
In a white shower at my feet;
Thick viburnums hide the wall;
And behind, the bush-bird's call
Bubbles, summery-sweet,
In a white shower at my feet;
Thick viburnums hide the wall;
And behind, the bush-bird's call
Bubbles, summery-sweet,
Now, as then, o'er purple blooms
Veiled by meadow-grasses rare;
Bubbles through the coppice glooms;
Joins the sweetbrier's late perfumes
Wandering through the air.
Veiled by meadow-grasses rare;
Bubbles through the coppice glooms;
Joins the sweetbrier's late perfumes
Wandering through the air.
All returns; your word, your look,
As we stood where now I stand:
With a dread I could not brook,
Well I knew my faint voice shook,
While you held my hand.
As we stood where now I stand:
With a dread I could not brook,
Well I knew my faint voice shook,
While you held my hand.
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Firm you always were, and then
High resolve had made you strong.
Could I bid you linger, when
Freedom called aloud for men
To requite her wrong?
High resolve had made you strong.
Could I bid you linger, when
Freedom called aloud for men
To requite her wrong?
Southrons threw their gauntlet-lie
In the face of God and Truth.
“Go, for love's sake!” was my cry;
“Were not Truth more dear than I,
Thou wert naught, in sooth!”
In the face of God and Truth.
“Go, for love's sake!” was my cry;
“Were not Truth more dear than I,
Thou wert naught, in sooth!”
And you went. The whole year through,
I have felt war's thunder-quake
Rend me hour by hour anew:
Yet I would not call for you,
Though my heart should break.
I have felt war's thunder-quake
Rend me hour by hour anew:
Yet I would not call for you,
Though my heart should break.
Only, standing here to-day,
With the sweetbrier's wandering breath,
And the smell of new-mown hay
In the air, “This life,” I say,
“Strikes deep root in death.”
With the sweetbrier's wandering breath,
And the smell of new-mown hay
In the air, “This life,” I say,
“Strikes deep root in death.”
Death! while here I pass the hours,
Blood is rising round your feet:
I sit ankle-deep in flowers:
On you, red shot falls in showers,
Through the battle-heat.
Blood is rising round your feet:
I sit ankle-deep in flowers:
On you, red shot falls in showers,
Through the battle-heat.
What if there I saw you lie,
Where the grasses nod and blow,
With your forehead to the sky,
And your wounds—O God! that I,—
That I bade you go!
Where the grasses nod and blow,
With your forehead to the sky,
And your wounds—O God! that I,—
That I bade you go!
Yet, were that to say once more,
“Go,” I'd say, “at any cost!”
Many a heart has bled before:
God His heroes will restore;
No great soul is lost.
“Go,” I'd say, “at any cost!”
Many a heart has bled before:
God His heroes will restore;
No great soul is lost.
And the strife that rages so
Burns out meanness from the land.
Men must fall, and blood must flow,
That our Plants of Honor grow
Unto stature grand.
Burns out meanness from the land.
Men must fall, and blood must flow,
That our Plants of Honor grow
Unto stature grand.
Ay, to-day it seems to me,
That yon little straggling rose
Fed by War's red springs must be:
All of fair and good I see,
Out of anguish grows.
That yon little straggling rose
Fed by War's red springs must be:
All of fair and good I see,
Out of anguish grows.
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Vines that shade the cottage-home;
Laurels for the warrior's wreath;
Lilies of white peace, that bloom
After battle's lurid gloom;
All are nursed by death.
Laurels for the warrior's wreath;
Lilies of white peace, that bloom
After battle's lurid gloom;
All are nursed by death.
By our bond, I'm close to-day
As your sword is, to your side.
If your breath stops in the fray
Watchers from above will say,
Two for freedom died.
As your sword is, to your side.
If your breath stops in the fray
Watchers from above will say,
Two for freedom died.
Still I loiter in the lane;
If I might but send you, dear,
Sweetbrier scents, the lark's refrain,
They would soothe the battle-pain;
You would feel me near:
If I might but send you, dear,
Sweetbrier scents, the lark's refrain,
They would soothe the battle-pain;
You would feel me near:
And the fresh thought of these fields
With new strength would nerve your arm.
Fearlessly his sword he wields,
Whose whole risk is what it shields,—
Home-love, pure and warm.
With new strength would nerve your arm.
Fearlessly his sword he wields,
Whose whole risk is what it shields,—
Home-love, pure and warm.
And you ventured all! You gave
Freely, hope and strength and life,
That the Stars and Stripes might wave
Nevermore above a slave:
Cheerfully your wife
Freely, hope and strength and life,
That the Stars and Stripes might wave
Nevermore above a slave:
Cheerfully your wife
Climbs with you great Freedom's pyre—
Not as Hindoo widows die!
We to life in Life aspire:
Love's last height is our desire;
Lo! we tread the sky!
Not as Hindoo widows die!
We to life in Life aspire:
Love's last height is our desire;
Lo! we tread the sky!
Treading with a joyful scorn
Selfish joy beneath our feet:
In a nation's hope new-born,
In a free world's radiant morn,
Breathing bliss complete.
Selfish joy beneath our feet:
In a nation's hope new-born,
In a free world's radiant morn,
Breathing bliss complete.
Hark! a jubilee of bells
Pealing through the sunset light,
Shaking out fresh clover-smells!
Parting day to-morrow tells,
Victory 's in sight.
Pealing through the sunset light,
Shaking out fresh clover-smells!
Parting day to-morrow tells,
Victory 's in sight.
Hark, again! the long, shrill blast
Eager throngs are waiting for.
Is it Death's train, sweeping past?
Homeward, Heart! Pain cannot last.—
What news from the war?
Eager throngs are waiting for.
Is it Death's train, sweeping past?
Homeward, Heart! Pain cannot last.—
What news from the war?
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A LOYAL WOMAN'S NO.
No! is my answer from this cold, bleak ridge,
Down to your valley: you may rest you there:
The gulf is wide, and none can build a bridge
That your gross weight would safely hither bear.
Down to your valley: you may rest you there:
The gulf is wide, and none can build a bridge
That your gross weight would safely hither bear.
Pity me, if you will. I look at you
With something that is kinder far than scorn,
And think, “Ah, well! I might have grovelled, too;
I might have walked there, fettered and forsworn.”
With something that is kinder far than scorn,
And think, “Ah, well! I might have grovelled, too;
I might have walked there, fettered and forsworn.”
I am of nature weak as others are;
I might have chosen comfortable ways;
Once from these heights I shrank, beheld afar,
In the soft lap of quiet, easy days.
I might have chosen comfortable ways;
Once from these heights I shrank, beheld afar,
In the soft lap of quiet, easy days.
I might,—I will not hide it,—once I might
Have lost, in the warm whirlpools of your voice,
The sense of Evil, the stern cry of Right;
But Truth has steered me free, and I rejoice.
Have lost, in the warm whirlpools of your voice,
The sense of Evil, the stern cry of Right;
But Truth has steered me free, and I rejoice.
Not with the triumph that looks back to jeer
At the poor herd that call their misery bliss;
But as a mortal speaks when God is near,
I drop you down my answer: it is this:
At the poor herd that call their misery bliss;
But as a mortal speaks when God is near,
I drop you down my answer: it is this:
I am not yours, because you prize in me
What is the lowest in my own esteem:
Only my flowery levels can you see,
Nor of my heaven-smit summits do you dream.
What is the lowest in my own esteem:
Only my flowery levels can you see,
Nor of my heaven-smit summits do you dream.
I am not yours, because you love yourself:
Your heart has scarcely room for me beside.
I will not be shut in with name and pelf;
I spurn the shelter of your narrow pride!
Your heart has scarcely room for me beside.
I will not be shut in with name and pelf;
I spurn the shelter of your narrow pride!
Not yours,—because you are not man enough
To grasp your country's measure of a man.
If such as you, when Freedom's ways are rough,
Cannot walk in them, learn that women can!
To grasp your country's measure of a man.
If such as you, when Freedom's ways are rough,
Cannot walk in them, learn that women can!
Not yours,—because, in this the nation's need,
You stoop to bend her losses to your gain,
And do not feel the meanness of your deed:
I touch no palm defiled with such a stain!
You stoop to bend her losses to your gain,
And do not feel the meanness of your deed:
I touch no palm defiled with such a stain!
Whether man's thought can find too lofty steeps
For woman's scaling, care not I to know;
But when he falters by her side, or creeps,
She must not clog her soul with him to go.
For woman's scaling, care not I to know;
But when he falters by her side, or creeps,
She must not clog her soul with him to go.
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Who weds me, must at least with equal pace
Sometimes move with me at my being's height:
To follow him to his superior place,
His rarer atmosphere, were keen delight.
Sometimes move with me at my being's height:
To follow him to his superior place,
His rarer atmosphere, were keen delight.
You lure me to the valley: men should call
Up to the mountains, where the air is clear.
Win me and help me climbing, if at all!
Beyond these peaks great harmonies I hear:—
Up to the mountains, where the air is clear.
Win me and help me climbing, if at all!
Beyond these peaks great harmonies I hear:—
The morning chant of Liberty and Law!
The dawn pours in, to wash out Slavery's blot;
Fairer than aught the bright sun ever saw,
Rises a Nation without stain or spot!
The dawn pours in, to wash out Slavery's blot;
Fairer than aught the bright sun ever saw,
Rises a Nation without stain or spot!
The men and women mated for that time
Tread not the soothing mosses of the plain;
Their hands are joined in sacrifice sublime;
Their feet firm set in upward paths of pain.
Tread not the soothing mosses of the plain;
Their hands are joined in sacrifice sublime;
Their feet firm set in upward paths of pain.
Sleep your thick sleep, and go your drowsy way!
You cannot hear the voices in the air!
Ignoble souls will shrivel in that day;
The brightness of its coming can you bear?
You cannot hear the voices in the air!
Ignoble souls will shrivel in that day;
The brightness of its coming can you bear?
For me, I do not walk these hills alone:
Heroes who poured their blood out for the truth,
Women whose hearts bled, martyrs all unknown,
Here catch the sunrise of immortal youth
Heroes who poured their blood out for the truth,
Women whose hearts bled, martyrs all unknown,
Here catch the sunrise of immortal youth
On their pale cheeks and consecrated brows:—
It charms me not, your call to rest below.
I press their hands, my lips pronounce their vows:
Take my life's silence for your answer: No!
It charms me not, your call to rest below.
I press their hands, my lips pronounce their vows:
Take my life's silence for your answer: No!
RE-ENLISTED.
MAY, 1864.
O did you see him in the street, dressed up in army-blue,
When drums and trumpets into town their storm of music threw—
A louder tune than all the winds could muster in the air,
The Rebel winds, that tried so hard our flag in strips to tear?
When drums and trumpets into town their storm of music threw—
A louder tune than all the winds could muster in the air,
The Rebel winds, that tried so hard our flag in strips to tear?
You did n't mind him? Oh, you looked beyond him then, perhaps,
To see the mounted officers rigged out with trooper-caps,
And shiny clothes, and sashes, and epaulets and all;
It was n't for such things as these he heard his country call.
To see the mounted officers rigged out with trooper-caps,
And shiny clothes, and sashes, and epaulets and all;
It was n't for such things as these he heard his country call.
She asked for men; and up he spoke, my handsome, hearty Sam,
“I'll die for the dear old Union, if she'll take me as I am.”
And if a better man than he there's mother that can show,
From Maine to Minnesota, then let the nation know!
“I'll die for the dear old Union, if she'll take me as I am.”
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From Maine to Minnesota, then let the nation know!
You would not pick him from the rest by eagles or by stars,
By straps upon his coat-sleeve, or gold or silver bars;
Nor a corporal's strip of worsted; but there 's something in his face,
And something in his even step, a-marching in his place,
By straps upon his coat-sleeve, or gold or silver bars;
Nor a corporal's strip of worsted; but there 's something in his face,
And something in his even step, a-marching in his place,
That could n't be improved by all the badges in the land:
A patriot, and a good, strong man; are generals much more grand?
We rest our pride on that big heart wrapped up in army-blue,
The girl he loves, Mehitabel, and I, who love him too.
A patriot, and a good, strong man; are generals much more grand?
We rest our pride on that big heart wrapped up in army-blue,
The girl he loves, Mehitabel, and I, who love him too.
He 's never shirked a battle yet, though frightful risks he 's run,
Since treason flooded Baltimore, the spring of Sixty-One;
Through blood and storm he 's held out firm, nor fretted once, my Sam,
At swamps of Chickahominy, or fields of Antietam.
Since treason flooded Baltimore, the spring of Sixty-One;
Through blood and storm he 's held out firm, nor fretted once, my Sam,
At swamps of Chickahominy, or fields of Antietam.
Though many a time, he 's told us, when he saw them lying dead,
The boys that came from Newburyport, and Lynn, and Marblehead,
Stretched out upon the trampled turf, and wept on by the sky,
It seemed to him the Commonwealth had drained her life-blood dry.
The boys that came from Newburyport, and Lynn, and Marblehead,
Stretched out upon the trampled turf, and wept on by the sky,
It seemed to him the Commonwealth had drained her life-blood dry.
“But then,” he said, “the more 's the need the country has of me:
To live and fight the war all through, what glory it will be!
The Rebel balls don't hit me; and, mother, if they should,
You'll know I 've fallen in my place, where I have always stood.”
To live and fight the war all through, what glory it will be!
The Rebel balls don't hit me; and, mother, if they should,
You'll know I 've fallen in my place, where I have always stood.”
He 's taken out his furlough, and short enough it seemed:
I often tell Mehitabel he'll think he only dreamed
Of walking with her nights so bright you could n't see a star,
And hearing the swift tide come in across the harbor bar.
I often tell Mehitabel he'll think he only dreamed
Of walking with her nights so bright you could n't see a star,
And hearing the swift tide come in across the harbor bar.
The Stars that shine above the Stripes, they light him southward now;
The tide of war has swept him back; he 's made a solemn vow
To build himself no home-nest till his country's work is done;
God bless the vow, and speed the work, my patriot, my son!
The tide of war has swept him back; he 's made a solemn vow
To build himself no home-nest till his country's work is done;
God bless the vow, and speed the work, my patriot, my son!
And yet it is a pretty place where his new house might be;
An orchard-road that leads your eye straight out upon the sea.
The boy not work his father's farm? it seems almost a shame;
But any selfish plan for him he 'd never let me name.
An orchard-road that leads your eye straight out upon the sea.
The boy not work his father's farm? it seems almost a shame;
But any selfish plan for him he 'd never let me name.
He 's re-enlisted for the war, for victory or for death!
A soldier's grave, perhaps!—the thought has half-way stopped my breath,
And driven a cloud across the sun;—my boy, it will not be!
The war will soon be over; home again you'll come to me!
A soldier's grave, perhaps!—the thought has half-way stopped my breath,
And driven a cloud across the sun;—my boy, it will not be!
The war will soon be over; home again you'll come to me!
He 's re-enlisted: and I smiled to see him going, too!
There 's nothing that becomes him half so well as army-blue.
Only a private in the ranks! but sure I am indeed,
If all the privates were like him, they'd scarcely captains need.
There 's nothing that becomes him half so well as army-blue.
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If all the privates were like him, they'd scarcely captains need.
And I and Massachusetts share the honor of his birth:
The grand old State! to me the best in all the peopled earth!
I cannot hold a musket, but I have a son who can;
And I'm proud for Freedom's sake to be the mother of a man!
The grand old State! to me the best in all the peopled earth!
I cannot hold a musket, but I have a son who can;
And I'm proud for Freedom's sake to be the mother of a man!
CANTICLE DE PROFUNDIS.
Glory to Thee, Father of all the Immortal,
Ever belongs:
We bring Thee from our watch by the grave's portal
Nothing but songs.
Though every wave of trouble has gone o'er us,—
Though in the fire
We have lost treasures time cannot restore us,—
Though all desire
That made life beautiful fades out in sorrow,—
Though the strange path
Winding so lonely through the bleak to-morrow,
No comfort hath,—
Though blackness gathers round us on all faces,
And we can see
By the red war-flash but Love's empty places,—
Glory to Thee!
Ever belongs:
We bring Thee from our watch by the grave's portal
Nothing but songs.
Though every wave of trouble has gone o'er us,—
Though in the fire
We have lost treasures time cannot restore us,—
Though all desire
That made life beautiful fades out in sorrow,—
Though the strange path
Winding so lonely through the bleak to-morrow,
No comfort hath,—
Though blackness gathers round us on all faces,
And we can see
By the red war-flash but Love's empty places,—
Glory to Thee!
For, underneath the crash and roar of battle,
The deafening roll
That calls men off to butchery like cattle,
Soul after soul;
Under the horrid sound of chaos seething
In blind, hot strife,
We feel the moving of Thy Spirit, breathing
A better life
Into the air of our long-sickened nation;
A muffled hymn;
The star-sung prelude of a new creation;
Suffusions dim,—
The bursting upward of a stifled glory,
That shall arise
To light new pages in the world's great story
For happier eyes.
The deafening roll
That calls men off to butchery like cattle,
Soul after soul;
Under the horrid sound of chaos seething
In blind, hot strife,
We feel the moving of Thy Spirit, breathing
A better life
Into the air of our long-sickened nation;
A muffled hymn;
The star-sung prelude of a new creation;
Suffusions dim,—
The bursting upward of a stifled glory,
That shall arise
To light new pages in the world's great story
For happier eyes.
If upon lips too close to dead lips leaning,
Songs be not found,
Yet wilt Thou know our life's unuttered meaning:
In its deep ground,
As seeds in earth, sleep sorrow-drenchèd praises,
Waiting to bring
Incense to Thee along thought's barren mazes
When Thou send'st spring.
Songs be not found,
Yet wilt Thou know our life's unuttered meaning:
In its deep ground,
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Waiting to bring
Incense to Thee along thought's barren mazes
When Thou send'st spring.
Glory to Thee! we say, with shuddering wonder,
While a hushed land
Hears the stern lesson syllabled in thunder,
That Truth is grand
As life must be; that neither man nor nation
May soil thy throne
With a soul's life-blood—horrible oblation!
Nor quick be shown
That thou wilt not be mocked by prayer whose nurses
Were Hate and Wrong;
That trees so vile must drop back fruit in curses
Bitter and strong.
While a hushed land
Hears the stern lesson syllabled in thunder,
That Truth is grand
As life must be; that neither man nor nation
May soil thy throne
With a soul's life-blood—horrible oblation!
Nor quick be shown
That thou wilt not be mocked by prayer whose nurses
Were Hate and Wrong;
That trees so vile must drop back fruit in curses
Bitter and strong.
Glory to Thee, who wilt not let us smother
Ourselves in sin;
Sending Pain's messengers fast on each other
Us thence to win!
Praise for the scourging under which we languish,
So torn, so sore!
And save us strength, if yet uncleansed by anguish,
To welcome more.
Life were not life to us, could they be fables,—
Justice and Right:
Scathe crime with lightning, till we see the tables
Of Law burn bright!
Ourselves in sin;
Sending Pain's messengers fast on each other
Us thence to win!
Praise for the scourging under which we languish,
So torn, so sore!
And save us strength, if yet uncleansed by anguish,
To welcome more.
Life were not life to us, could they be fables,—
Justice and Right:
Scathe crime with lightning, till we see the tables
Of Law burn bright!
Glory to Thee, whose glory and whose pleasure
Must be in good!
By Thee the mysteries we cannot measure
Are understood.
With the abysses of Thyself above us,
Our sins below,
That Thou dost look from Thy pure heaven and love us,
Enough to know.
Enough to lay our praises on Thy bosom—
Praises fresh-grown
Out of our depths, dark root and open blossom,
Up to thy throne.
When choking tears make our Hosannas falter,
The music free!
Oh, keep clear voices singing at Thy altar,
Glory to Thee!
Must be in good!
By Thee the mysteries we cannot measure
Are understood.
With the abysses of Thyself above us,
Our sins below,
That Thou dost look from Thy pure heaven and love us,
Enough to know.
Enough to lay our praises on Thy bosom—
Praises fresh-grown
Out of our depths, dark root and open blossom,
Up to thy throne.
When choking tears make our Hosannas falter,
The music free!
Oh, keep clear voices singing at Thy altar,
Glory to Thee!
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LINCOLN'S PASSING-BELL.
APRIL 15, 1865.
Tolling, tolling, tolling!
All the bells of the land!
Lo! the patriot martyr
Taketh his journey grand;
Travels into the ages,
Bearing a hope how dear!
Into life's unknown vistas,
Liberty's great pioneer.
All the bells of the land!
Lo! the patriot martyr
Taketh his journey grand;
Travels into the ages,
Bearing a hope how dear!
Into life's unknown vistas,
Liberty's great pioneer.
Tolling, tolling, tolling!
Do the budded violets know
The pain of the lingering clangor
Shaking their bloom out so?
They open into strange sorrow,
The rain of a nation's tears;
Into the saddest April
Twined with the New World's years.
Do the budded violets know
The pain of the lingering clangor
Shaking their bloom out so?
They open into strange sorrow,
The rain of a nation's tears;
Into the saddest April
Twined with the New World's years.
Tolling, tolling, tolling!
See, they come as a cloud,—
Hearts of a mighty people,
Bearing his pall and shroud!
Lifting up, like a banner,
Signals of loss and woe!
Wonder of breathless nations,
Moveth the solemn show.
See, they come as a cloud,—
Hearts of a mighty people,
Bearing his pall and shroud!
Lifting up, like a banner,
Signals of loss and woe!
Wonder of breathless nations,
Moveth the solemn show.
Tolling, tolling, tolling!
Was it, O man beloved,—
Was it thy funeral only,
Over the land that moved?
Veiled by that hour of anguish,
Borne with the rebel rout,
Forth into utter darkness,
Slavery's corse went out.
Was it, O man beloved,—
Was it thy funeral only,
Over the land that moved?
Veiled by that hour of anguish,
Borne with the rebel rout,
Forth into utter darkness,
Slavery's corse went out.
THE FLAG.
JUNE 17, 1865.
Let it idly droop, or sway
To the wind's light will;
Furl its stars, or float in day;
Flutter, or be still!
It has held its colors bright,
Through the war-smoke dun;
Spotless emblem of the Right,
Whence success was won.
To the wind's light will;
Furl its stars, or float in day;
Flutter, or be still!
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Through the war-smoke dun;
Spotless emblem of the Right,
Whence success was won.
Let it droop in graceful rest
For a passing hour—
Glory's banner, last and best;
Freedom's freshest flower!
Each red stripe has blazoned forth
Gospels writ in blood;
Every star has sung the birth
Of some deathless good.
For a passing hour—
Glory's banner, last and best;
Freedom's freshest flower!
Each red stripe has blazoned forth
Gospels writ in blood;
Every star has sung the birth
Of some deathless good.
Let it droop, but not too long!
On the eager wind
Bid it wave, to shame the wrong;
To inspire mankind
With a larger human love;
With a truth as true
As the heaven that broods above
Its deep field of blue.
On the eager wind
Bid it wave, to shame the wrong;
To inspire mankind
With a larger human love;
With a truth as true
As the heaven that broods above
Its deep field of blue.
In the gathering hosts of hope,
In the march of man,
Open for it place and scope,
Bid it lead the van;
Till beneath the searching skies
Martyr-blood be found,
Purer than our sacrifice,
Crying from the ground:
In the march of man,
Open for it place and scope,
Bid it lead the van;
Till beneath the searching skies
Martyr-blood be found,
Purer than our sacrifice,
Crying from the ground:
Till a flag with some new light
Out of Freedom's sky,
Kindles, through the gulfs of night,
Holier blazonry.
Let its glow the darkness drown!
Give our banner sway,
Till its joyful stars go down,
In undreamed-of day!
Out of Freedom's sky,
Kindles, through the gulfs of night,
Holier blazonry.
Let its glow the darkness drown!
Give our banner sway,
Till its joyful stars go down,
In undreamed-of day!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |