Poems (Whitney)/The fugitive-slave-bill
Jump to navigation
Jump to search
THE FUGITIVE-SLAVE-BILL.
Dear God, who art so very calm—
All-seeing and so patient still,
Fill me with calm before thee; root
From out my heart, the germ and shoot
Of narrow sight and selfish will.
All-seeing and so patient still,
Fill me with calm before thee; root
From out my heart, the germ and shoot
Of narrow sight and selfish will.
And though.my heart impatient beat,
And bitter tears I stem within,
May I recall that life to-day
Of pitying Christ, which seemed to say,
The saddest of all griefs is sin.
And bitter tears I stem within,
May I recall that life to-day
Of pitying Christ, which seemed to say,
The saddest of all griefs is sin.
O patient souls, that sadly toil
Where bleeding feet before have trod,
The oppressor and the oppressed are here;
I know you choose the weight, the fear,
The stripes above the awful rod!
Where bleeding feet before have trod,
The oppressor and the oppressed are here;
I know you choose the weight, the fear,
The stripes above the awful rod!
We talk of sorrow—talk of death,
Old signs for old things all unmoved.
Who bears about this deadly grief;
An inward bane, with no relief—
He only grief and death has proved.
Old signs for old things all unmoved.
Who bears about this deadly grief;
An inward bane, with no relief—
He only grief and death has proved.
What wonder, if men sometimes doubt
If God be in his heavens or no?
The lightnings open them, but still
And fine; the motions of his will
That keep true balance flit in veins below.
If God be in his heavens or no?
The lightnings open them, but still
And fine; the motions of his will
That keep true balance flit in veins below.
No little thing that seems to live
Its poor, mean life, a creeping clod,
But has a hope for its brief hours,
A joy perhaps more fine than ours—
A something it may keep from God.
Its poor, mean life, a creeping clod,
But has a hope for its brief hours,
A joy perhaps more fine than ours—
A something it may keep from God.
In silent ways, He evens all.
All silently, the mean he brings
Up to his own transcendent height:
All silently with inward blight,
He shrinks oppression's evil springs.
All silently, the mean he brings
Up to his own transcendent height:
All silently with inward blight,
He shrinks oppression's evil springs.
But go not thou, with truth like this,
To the poor thralls of grief and fear,
Till thou hast labored well and long,
To heal their wounds, to right their wrong,
And won the noble right to cheer.
To the poor thralls of grief and fear,
Till thou hast labored well and long,
To heal their wounds, to right their wrong,
And won the noble right to cheer.
And who may close his eyes and hands?
You, if the air's free motions breed
No joy in you, if you may vaunt
To live without a hope, nor want
Man's comfort in your bitter need.
You, if the air's free motions breed
No joy in you, if you may vaunt
To live without a hope, nor want
Man's comfort in your bitter need.
Our rivers, from their mountain springs,
Deepen and broaden to the sea;
And ever as they stream along;
Warble their noble mountain song
To meadow lily and tulip tree.
Deepen and broaden to the sea;
And ever as they stream along;
Warble their noble mountain song
To meadow lily and tulip tree.
Forget your native hymn alas!
And be to earth's warm breast as dead—
Or breathe one breath of Freedom's morn,
One blast upon her mountain horn,
And let men know where you were born and bred!
And be to earth's warm breast as dead—
Or breathe one breath of Freedom's morn,
One blast upon her mountain horn,
And let men know where you were born and bred!
No narrow policy—O no—
East, west, north, south alone to suit!
No chartered wrong—no "fixed fact" lie—
No mean to-day's expediency—
Seed of to-morrow's bitter fruit!
East, west, north, south alone to suit!
No chartered wrong—no "fixed fact" lie—
No mean to-day's expediency—
Seed of to-morrow's bitter fruit!
O not beneath God's light, forego
Your birthright in our dear-bought land!
Your freeman's reverence for the free,
Your freeman's faith in liberty—
Your freeman's unslaved soul and hand!
Your birthright in our dear-bought land!
Your freeman's reverence for the free,
Your freeman's faith in liberty—
Your freeman's unslaved soul and hand!
And if man bid you darken.life,
Quench hope and seize what God's love gave,
Leave the poor serpent to his hiss,
Do aught, be aught, but be not this—
Far rather be a southern slave!
Quench hope and seize what God's love gave,
Leave the poor serpent to his hiss,
Do aught, be aught, but be not this—
Far rather be a southern slave!