 | Voices of freedom and lyrics of love! |  |
11
VOICES OF FREEDOM, AND LYRICS OF LOVE.
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A CHAUNT.
Night trembles o'er earth's beauty, now,
Like silvery bridal-veil, hung low!
While I with feverish heart and brow,
Awake, to weep for thee, love!
The spangled glories of the night,
Earth—saint-like, swathed in splendour light,
These cannot win my charmed sight,
Or lure a thought from thee, love!
Like silvery bridal-veil, hung low!
While I with feverish heart and brow,
Awake, to weep for thee, love!
The spangled glories of the night,
Earth—saint-like, swathed in splendour light,
These cannot win my charmed sight,
Or lure a thought from thee, love!
I'm pondering o'er that short sweet time,
Our hearts drank in, a summer's prime,
And blossom'd in love's Eden-clime,
When I was blest with thee, love!
There burned no beauty on the trees;
There woke no song of birds or bees—
But love's cup for us held no lees,
And I was blest with thee, love!
Our hearts drank in, a summer's prime,
And blossom'd in love's Eden-clime,
When I was blest with thee, love!
There burned no beauty on the trees;
There woke no song of birds or bees—
But love's cup for us held no lees,
And I was blest with thee, love!
Then grand, and golden fancies spring
From out my heart, on splendid wing,
Chrysalis, from life's wintering—
Burst bright and summeringly, love!
And as a chief of battle lost,
Counts, and recounts, his striken host—
Stands, tearful Memory, making most
Of all that's toucht with thee, love!
From out my heart, on splendid wing,
Chrysalis, from life's wintering—
Burst bright and summeringly, love!
And as a chief of battle lost,
Counts, and recounts, his striken host—
Stands, tearful Memory, making most
Of all that's toucht with thee, love!
I know in Pleasure's flower-crowned bower,
Thy heart may half forget love's power,
But at this still and starry hour,
Does it not turn to me, love!
O! by all pangs for thy sweet sake,
In my deep love, thy heart-thirst slake,
Or all-too-full, my heart must break;
Break! break! with loving thee, love!
Thy heart may half forget love's power,
But at this still and starry hour,
Does it not turn to me, love!
O! by all pangs for thy sweet sake,
In my deep love, thy heart-thirst slake,
Or all-too-full, my heart must break;
Break! break! with loving thee, love!
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WE'LL WIN OUR FREEDOM YET.
My heart weeps bloody sweat, to see the red wrong daily done!
O Brothers, knit your hearts, and put the battle mail-sark on,
And combat for the Hopeless, who give all life's glory up,—
That wolves may eat their hearts, and brim with blood, Wrong's revel-cup.
Up! if ye will be free, to golden calves no longer bow,
The nations yearn for liberty, the world is earnest now;
By Christ our Brother! God our Sire! do ye but truly set
A brave, free heart to mine, Boys! We'll win our freedom yet.
O Brothers, knit your hearts, and put the battle mail-sark on,
And combat for the Hopeless, who give all life's glory up,—
That wolves may eat their hearts, and brim with blood, Wrong's revel-cup.
Up! if ye will be free, to golden calves no longer bow,
The nations yearn for liberty, the world is earnest now;
By Christ our Brother! God our Sire! do ye but truly set
A brave, free heart to mine, Boys! We'll win our freedom yet.
The palace paupers look from lattice high, and mock our prayer;
The Champions of the Lord are dumb, the golden bit they wear,
O, but to see ye bend no more, to these crime-cursed things,
Ye are God's oracles! stand forth, be Nature's Priests and Kings!
The bent knee, is half way to Hell! Up, Serviles, from the dust,
The harvest of the free red-ripens, for our sickle-thrust,
By Christ our Brother! God our Sire! do ye but truly set
A brave, free heart to mine, Boys, We'll win our freedom yet.
The Champions of the Lord are dumb, the golden bit they wear,
O, but to see ye bend no more, to these crime-cursed things,
Ye are God's oracles! stand forth, be Nature's Priests and Kings!
The bent knee, is half way to Hell! Up, Serviles, from the dust,
The harvest of the free red-ripens, for our sickle-thrust,
By Christ our Brother! God our Sire! do ye but truly set
A brave, free heart to mine, Boys, We'll win our freedom yet.
The flowers will soon be springing, o'er our last year martyrs mould,
Like dreams from out their wreckt hearts, telling what they left untold,
Of all our rainbowed Future's fame, and what this earth shall be
When we have barter'd blows and bonds, for life, and liberty—
And what a face of glory shall this weary world put on,
When Love, a crowned god, shall sit, and rule in its heart-throne.
O, by these martyrs—these flower-dreams, do ye but truly set
A brave, free heart to mine, Boys, We'll win our freedom yet.
Like dreams from out their wreckt hearts, telling what they left untold,
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When we have barter'd blows and bonds, for life, and liberty—
And what a face of glory shall this weary world put on,
When Love, a crowned god, shall sit, and rule in its heart-throne.
O, by these martyrs—these flower-dreams, do ye but truly set
A brave, free heart to mine, Boys, We'll win our freedom yet.
Freedom! that Mothers, Sires, may smile, who meet us, tear-blind, now,
Ere other morn, shall break in grey, above each blanching brow!
Freedom! that Love may be no more, death's kiss, to those we love,
That pride, not shame, may flush the cheek of our heart-nestling dove.
Freedom! that earth's good gifts may flow, as bountiful as rain—
And life, lie lightly on the heart, and merry on the brain!
By Christ our Brother! God our Sire! do ye but truly set
A brave, free heart to mine, Boys! We'll win this freedom yet.
Ere other morn, shall break in grey, above each blanching brow!
Freedom! that Love may be no more, death's kiss, to those we love,
That pride, not shame, may flush the cheek of our heart-nestling dove.
Freedom! that earth's good gifts may flow, as bountiful as rain—
And life, lie lightly on the heart, and merry on the brain!
By Christ our Brother! God our Sire! do ye but truly set
A brave, free heart to mine, Boys! We'll win this freedom yet.
21
BALLAD.
[With her white hands claspt, she sleepeth, heart is husht, and lips are cold]
With her white hands claspt, she sleepeth, heart is husht, and lips are cold,
Death shrouds up her heaven of beauty, and a weary way I go,
Like the sheep without a shepherd on the wintry, norland wold,
With the face of Day shut out by blinding snow.
O'er its widowed nest my heart sits mourning, for its mate that's fled
From this world of wail and weeping, fled to join her starry peers,
And my light of life's o'ershadowed, where the dear one lieth dead,
And I'm crying in the dark with many fears.
Death shrouds up her heaven of beauty, and a weary way I go,
Like the sheep without a shepherd on the wintry, norland wold,
With the face of Day shut out by blinding snow.
O'er its widowed nest my heart sits mourning, for its mate that's fled
From this world of wail and weeping, fled to join her starry peers,
And my light of life's o'ershadowed, where the dear one lieth dead,
And I'm crying in the dark with many fears.
One of God's own darlings was my bosom's nestling dove,
With her looks of love, and sunshine, and a voice so sweet and low,
O! it hallowed all my being, like a canticle of love,
And its music yearns through all my memory now:
For in winds, she maketh passionate speech, and filleth silverily,
Like a song, the listening silence, of the midnight's charmed hours,
And I know from out her heart, she'll send her love in death, to me,
By the Spring, in smiling utterance of Flowers.
With her looks of love, and sunshine, and a voice so sweet and low,
O! it hallowed all my being, like a canticle of love,
And its music yearns through all my memory now:
For in winds, she maketh passionate speech, and filleth silverily,
Like a song, the listening silence, of the midnight's charmed hours,
And I know from out her heart, she'll send her love in death, to me,
By the Spring, in smiling utterance of Flowers.
O! my love o'er-pure for earth, has gone into the world of light,
It was hard to leave me lonely, but the Lord had need of her,
And she walks the heavens in glory, like a star i'the crown of night,
With the Saints, and with the Angels, mingling there.
Gone before me, to be clothed on with bridal robe of white,
Where Love's blossom turns to knowledge-fruit, and suffering's glorified.
And my love shall make me meet, and worthy of her presence bright,
And in heaven I will claim her as my bride.
It was hard to leave me lonely, but the Lord had need of her,
And she walks the heavens in glory, like a star i'the crown of night,
With the Saints, and with the Angels, mingling there.
Gone before me, to be clothed on with bridal robe of white,
Where Love's blossom turns to knowledge-fruit, and suffering's glorified.
And my love shall make me meet, and worthy of her presence bright,
And in heaven I will claim her as my bride.
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SONG.
[Sweet smile on the cheek of thy home, where]
Sweet smile on the cheek of thy home, where
Joy burst on thy young spirit's waking;
Canst give its endearments to come, where
Life hath many a hot heart-aching?
Have you counted the cost to stand by me,
In the battle I fight for man?
And shall your angel-love deify me,
Who stand in the world's dark ban?
O, a daring high soul you will need, dear love,
To brave the life-battle with me;
For your true heart may oftentimes bleed, dear love,
And your sweet eyes dim tearfully.
Joy burst on thy young spirit's waking;
Canst give its endearments to come, where
Life hath many a hot heart-aching?
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In the battle I fight for man?
And shall your angel-love deify me,
Who stand in the world's dark ban?
O, a daring high soul you will need, dear love,
To brave the life-battle with me;
For your true heart may oftentimes bleed, dear love,
And your sweet eyes dim tearfully.
Sweet! know you of gallant hearts perishing—
The fine spirits that dumbly bow?
For a little of fortune's cherishing,
They are breaking in agony, now.
And without the sunshine that life needeth,
Alas, Sweet! for me and for you,
How little the callous world heedeth,
For love like ours tender and true.
O! a daring high soul you will need, dear love,
To brave the life-battle with me;
For your true heart may oftentimes bleed, dear love,
And your sweet eyes dim tearfully.
The fine spirits that dumbly bow?
For a little of fortune's cherishing,
They are breaking in agony, now.
And without the sunshine that life needeth,
Alas, Sweet! for me and for you,
How little the callous world heedeth,
For love like ours tender and true.
O! a daring high soul you will need, dear love,
To brave the life-battle with me;
For your true heart may oftentimes bleed, dear love,
And your sweet eyes dim tearfully.
Well you've sworn! I have sworn; God hath bound us,
And that covenant the world shall not part;
I have flung my love's mantle around us,
And you live in each beat of my heart.
It may be our name in earth's story,
Shall endure when we are no more;
For truth lives as the stars burn in glory,
And the flowers bud on earth's green floor.
But a daring high soul you will need, dear love,
To brave the life-battle with me;
For your true heart may oftentimes bleed, dear love,
And your sweet eyes dim tearfully.
And that covenant the world shall not part;
I have flung my love's mantle around us,
And you live in each beat of my heart.
It may be our name in earth's story,
Shall endure when we are no more;
For truth lives as the stars burn in glory,
And the flowers bud on earth's green floor.
But a daring high soul you will need, dear love,
To brave the life-battle with me;
For your true heart may oftentimes bleed, dear love,
And your sweet eyes dim tearfully.
46
WE KNOW THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG.
When this bright world's a blessed place
Where Paradise might be—
If Love but lampt the sweet, sad, face
Of our humanity—
When heaven is full of sunshine, earth
Full of fruit, flowers, and song,
Yet starvelings groan 'mid nature's mirth,
We know there's something wrong.
Where Paradise might be—
If Love but lampt the sweet, sad, face
Of our humanity—
When heaven is full of sunshine, earth
Full of fruit, flowers, and song,
Yet starvelings groan 'mid nature's mirth,
We know there's something wrong.
When God's dear sunshine's taxt for gold,
The smile of green fields bought,
And rulers league in power's stronghold,
To crush the people's thought;
And statesmen cower tremblingly
Before the pleading throng,
Nor stand in conscious dignity,—
We know there's something wrong.
The smile of green fields bought,
And rulers league in power's stronghold,
To crush the people's thought;
And statesmen cower tremblingly
Before the pleading throng,
Nor stand in conscious dignity,—
We know there's something wrong.
When prison-ration, pauper-fare,—
Is better than theirs who plod
Twelve hours a day like slaves, yet wear
The image of a God.
When Mother Church breaks hearts for bread,
And sanctions drop and thong—
We read what Christ the master said,
And know there's something wrong.
Is better than theirs who plod
Twelve hours a day like slaves, yet wear
The image of a God.
When Mother Church breaks hearts for bread,
And sanctions drop and thong—
We read what Christ the master said,
And know there's something wrong.
When saintly rogues preach temperance
Beneath the worship-dome,
Yet lust for luxury askance,
And go get drunk at home!
When their creed-thunders hell-hot hurled,
Buckler the blood-dyed strong—
Who keep mind sheathed and freedom furled
We know there's something wrong.
Beneath the worship-dome,
Yet lust for luxury askance,
And go get drunk at home!
When their creed-thunders hell-hot hurled,
Buckler the blood-dyed strong—
Who keep mind sheathed and freedom furled
We know there's something wrong.
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When conquering nations—barbarous, win,
And civilize with the sword—
And thro' the bloody breech fling in,
The voice from heaven, God's word!
And while good spirits preach good-will—
Roll red, grim strife, along—
Keep men, and goad them mad, to kill,
We know there's something wrong.
And civilize with the sword—
And thro' the bloody breech fling in,
The voice from heaven, God's word!
And while good spirits preach good-will—
Roll red, grim strife, along—
Keep men, and goad them mad, to kill,
We know there's something wrong.
When hunger sits at Merit's board,
And smiteth beauty down—
While fools are worshipt—gold adored.—
And murderers win renown—
When proud, rich robbers, grandly flaunt
Amid a starving throng,
While thousands bite the dust for want—
We know there's something wrong.
And smiteth beauty down—
While fools are worshipt—gold adored.—
And murderers win renown—
When proud, rich robbers, grandly flaunt
Amid a starving throng,
While thousands bite the dust for want—
We know there's something wrong.
Great heart of this old universe,
Lord, Life, Love! rise and save
The People: Let this tyrant curse,
In deep hell dig its grave.
For Faith is grey with waiting, God!
How long, oh, God! how long,
Ere Truth shall vanquish force and fraud—
Right triumph over Wrong?
Lord, Life, Love! rise and save
The People: Let this tyrant curse,
In deep hell dig its grave.
For Faith is grey with waiting, God!
How long, oh, God! how long,
Ere Truth shall vanquish force and fraud—
Right triumph over Wrong?
58
WE ALL ARE BROTHERS STILL.
The poor man treads the earth in tears;
Soul-crusht, he turns to mourn apart;
There is no summer in his years,
No song of gladness in his heart.
The rich, in robes of pride adorn,
At pleasure's banquet quaff their fill;
And aye, some laugh, while others mourn,
Yet we are brothers still.
Soul-crusht, he turns to mourn apart;
There is no summer in his years,
No song of gladness in his heart.
The rich, in robes of pride adorn,
At pleasure's banquet quaff their fill;
And aye, some laugh, while others mourn,
Yet we are brothers still.
The poor man's home is desolate:
His children learn not Love's sweet wiles;
No looks of happy radiance wait
To glad his coming with their smiles.
For Wealth's wide-worshipt darlings keep
His weary bones to work their will;
And aye, some laugh, while others weep—
Yet we are brothers still.
His children learn not Love's sweet wiles;
No looks of happy radiance wait
To glad his coming with their smiles.
For Wealth's wide-worshipt darlings keep
His weary bones to work their will;
And aye, some laugh, while others weep—
Yet we are brothers still.
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Our patient sufferance winneth scorn:
They scoff and spurn us bound and blind;
Yet hath this people's bosom borne
Earth's glory-crowned kings of mind.
Cruel and coward when we plead—
Eager and swift our blood to spill;
And aye, some laugh, while others bleed!
Yet we are brothers still.
They scoff and spurn us bound and blind;
Yet hath this people's bosom borne
Earth's glory-crowned kings of mind.
Cruel and coward when we plead—
Eager and swift our blood to spill;
And aye, some laugh, while others bleed!
Yet we are brothers still.
I know the time grows ready-ripe—
Their hearts, like hunted hares shall quake;
Death-daring spirits burn to wipe
Our wrongs away—our bonds to break.
'Twill come! ah, God! be with us, when
Long-maddened vengeance pants to kill;
Or we may grimly stifle then,
That we are brothers still.
Their hearts, like hunted hares shall quake;
Death-daring spirits burn to wipe
Our wrongs away—our bonds to break.
'Twill come! ah, God! be with us, when
Long-maddened vengeance pants to kill;
Or we may grimly stifle then,
That we are brothers still.
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WE ARE MANY, OUR TYRANTS ARE FEW.
Behold! the Morn breaking above, Boys!
Bathing earth in a warm, rosy shower,
Heaven seemeth o'erflowing with love, Boys!
And light kisseth the lowliest Flower.
All bright, as on proud, princely home, Boys!
The sun smiles on the povertied Thrall,
And thus, Freedom's morning shall come, Boys!
With its radiant sunrise over all.
O! look for the noble in soul, Boys!
And grasp ye the hand of the True:
Then on for the glorious goal, Boys!
We are many, our Tyrants are few.
Bathing earth in a warm, rosy shower,
Heaven seemeth o'erflowing with love, Boys!
And light kisseth the lowliest Flower.
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The sun smiles on the povertied Thrall,
And thus, Freedom's morning shall come, Boys!
With its radiant sunrise over all.
O! look for the noble in soul, Boys!
And grasp ye the hand of the True:
Then on for the glorious goal, Boys!
We are many, our Tyrants are few.
Courage! keep heart for awhile, Boys!
A holy and brotherly band—
Have sworn that the children of toil, Boys!
Shall break the oppressor's wand!
They have sworn by the souls of the brave, Boys!
Whom the Tyrant's red sword set free—
By the wounds on the back of the slave, Boys!
To battle for dear Liberty!
Keep heart! with the noble in soul, Boys!
Keep hand with the good and the True;
Then on for the glorious goal, Boys!
We are many, our Tyrants are few.
A holy and brotherly band—
Have sworn that the children of toil, Boys!
Shall break the oppressor's wand!
They have sworn by the souls of the brave, Boys!
Whom the Tyrant's red sword set free—
By the wounds on the back of the slave, Boys!
To battle for dear Liberty!
Keep heart! with the noble in soul, Boys!
Keep hand with the good and the True;
Then on for the glorious goal, Boys!
We are many, our Tyrants are few.
Disdain with a noble scorn, Boys!
The bugbears that Priestcraft hath wrought!
They'll evanish like phantoms forlorn, Boys!
In the morning-light of Thought.
Never fear, tho' men curse and upbraid us—
Never wince, 'neath the hireling's gibe!
They'd flatter and fawn, aye, and aid us,
Were we gold-curst enough to bribe!
But look for the noble in soul, Boys!
And grasp ye the hand of the True!
Then on for the glorious goal, Boys!
We are many, our Tyrants are few.
The bugbears that Priestcraft hath wrought!
They'll evanish like phantoms forlorn, Boys!
In the morning-light of Thought.
Never fear, tho' men curse and upbraid us—
Never wince, 'neath the hireling's gibe!
They'd flatter and fawn, aye, and aid us,
Were we gold-curst enough to bribe!
But look for the noble in soul, Boys!
And grasp ye the hand of the True!
Then on for the glorious goal, Boys!
We are many, our Tyrants are few.
The flag of the Free, shall wave out, Boys!
O'er the dark, ruin'd towers of wrong!
And the People shall wake with a shout, Bo
And the poor man's heart break into song.
Truth's halo of glory shall deck them,
Who rule, in our hearts enthroned—
And the crown of their victor-brows make them,
Peerless, among Peers birth-renowned!
Keep heart with the noble in Soul, Boys!
Keep hand! with the gallant and True!
And on, on for the glorious goal, Boys!
We are many, our Tyrants are few.
O'er the dark, ruin'd towers of wrong!
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And the poor man's heart break into song.
Truth's halo of glory shall deck them,
Who rule, in our hearts enthroned—
And the crown of their victor-brows make them,
Peerless, among Peers birth-renowned!
Keep heart with the noble in Soul, Boys!
Keep hand! with the gallant and True!
And on, on for the glorious goal, Boys!
We are many, our Tyrants are few.
SONG.
[Farewell my darling, the dawn of to-morrow]
Farewell my darling, the dawn of to-morrow,
Will waken us, bitterly sever'd at heart;
Yet tho' thou leav'st me be-darkened in sorrow,
To bleed from the cold world in silence apart—
Though nought but fruit of pain crowneth Love's blossom,
Still will I live for thee, darling, and when
The world shall forsake thee, O turn to my bosom,
My heart will forgive thee, with “welcome again.”
Will waken us, bitterly sever'd at heart;
Yet tho' thou leav'st me be-darkened in sorrow,
To bleed from the cold world in silence apart—
Though nought but fruit of pain crowneth Love's blossom,
Still will I live for thee, darling, and when
The world shall forsake thee, O turn to my bosom,
My heart will forgive thee, with “welcome again.”
When thou'rt aweary, and high hopes are blighted,
And thy young yearnings, far-wanderers, come
From the world's highways all wreckt and benighted,
To nestle and bleed in their desolate home—
When life hath no spring-burst of beauty and blossom,
Still with I live for thee, darling, and when
The world shall forsake thee, O turn to my bosom,
My heart will forgive thee with “welcome again.”
And thy young yearnings, far-wanderers, come
From the world's highways all wreckt and benighted,
To nestle and bleed in their desolate home—
When life hath no spring-burst of beauty and blossom,
Still with I live for thee, darling, and when
The world shall forsake thee, O turn to my bosom,
My heart will forgive thee with “welcome again.”
END.
| Voices of freedom and lyrics of love! | |