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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Anti-Slavery Poems (search)
el trod; But for that truth, for which alone In pilgrim eyes are sanctified The garden moss, the mountain stone, Whereon His holy sandals pressed,— The fountain which His lip hath blessed,— Whate'er hath touched His garment's hem At Bethany or Bethlehem, Or Jordan's river-side. For Freedom in the name of Him Who came to raise Earth's drooping poor, To break the chain from every limb, The bolt from every prison door! For these, o'er all the earth hath passed An ever-deepening trumpet blast, As nation's hearth and home The justice long delayed is done. Not as we hoped, in calm of prayer, The message of deliverance comes, But heralded by roll of drums On waves of battle-troubled air! Midst sounds that madden and appall, The song that Bethlehem's shepherds knew! The harp of David melting through The demon-agonies of Saul! Not as we hoped; but what are we? Above our broken dreams and plans God lays, with wiser hand than man's, The corner-stones of liberty. I cavil not with Him: the v
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Songs of Labour and Reform (search)
wl! Stand aside, men of Rome! Here's a hangman-faced Swiss— (A blessing for him surely can't go amiss)— Would kneel down the sanctified slipper to kiss. Short shrift will suffice him,—he's blest beyond doubt; But there's blood on his hands which would scarcely wash out, Though Peter himself held the baptismal spout! Make way for the next! Here's another sweet son! What's this mastiff-jawed rascal in epaulets done? He did, whispers rumor, (its truth God forbid!) At Perugia what Herod at Bethlehem did. And the mothers? Don't name them! these humors of war They who keep him in service must pardon him for. Hist! here's the arch-knave in a cardinal's hat, With the heart of a wolf, and the stealth of a, cat (As if Judas and Herod together were rolled), Who keeps, all as one, the Pope's conscience and gold, Mounts guard on the altar, and pilfers from thence, And flatters St. Peter while stealing his pence! Who doubts Antonelli? Have miracles ceased When robbers say mass, and Barab<