 | Words for the hour |  |
23
TREMONT TEMPLE.
Two figures fill this temple to my sight,
Who e'er shall speak, their forms behind him stand;
One has the beauty of our Northern blood,
And wields Jove's thunder in his lifted hand.
Who e'er shall speak, their forms behind him stand;
One has the beauty of our Northern blood,
And wields Jove's thunder in his lifted hand.
The other wears the solemn hue of night
Drawn darker in the blazonry of pain,
Blotting the gaslight's mimic day, he slings
A dangerous weapon too, a broken chain.
Drawn darker in the blazonry of pain,
Blotting the gaslight's mimic day, he slings
A dangerous weapon too, a broken chain.
Oh! what a thing it was to sit and hear
Our Sumner pour the torrent of his soul;
The broken thread and parcel of the crowd
Knit to one web—one passion-colored whole.
Our Sumner pour the torrent of his soul;
The broken thread and parcel of the crowd
Knit to one web—one passion-colored whole.
We chid the tedious clock that told the knell
Of minutes, swollen to hours, that break and die;
“It is not so—Time listening waits for him—
Be still!” we said, and passed its record by.
Of minutes, swollen to hours, that break and die;
“It is not so—Time listening waits for him—
Be still!” we said, and passed its record by.
24
The evil thing he smote at, waited long
To hurl its vileness at that Master brain.
'T will be a proud day when we gather here,
(Grant it, dear God!) to hear his voice again.
To hurl its vileness at that Master brain.
'T will be a proud day when we gather here,
(Grant it, dear God!) to hear his voice again.
And, Douglass, thou shalt own the white man's debt
To thee and thine, half cancelled, by the rood;
The country flashes with the Northern fire,
And Sumner blest the banner with his blood.
To thee and thine, half cancelled, by the rood;
The country flashes with the Northern fire,
And Sumner blest the banner with his blood.
| Words for the hour | |