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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Anti-Slavery Poems (search)
nd, but obstinate and sullen. He ran away some time last spring, and hid In the river timber. There my Indian converts Found him, and treed and shot him. For the rest, The heathens round about begin to feel The influence of our pious ministrations And works of love; and some of them already Have purchased negroes, and are settling down As sober Christians! Bless the Lord for this! I know it will rejoice you. You, I hear, Are on the eve of visiting Chicago, To fight with the wild beasts of Ephesus, Long John, and Dutch Free-Soilers. May your arm Be clothed with strength, and on your tongue be found The sweet oil of persuasion. So desires Your brother and co-laborer. Amen! P. S. All's lost. Even while I write these lines, The Yankee abolitionists are coming Upon us like a flood—grim, stalwart men, Each face set like a flint of Plymouth Rock Against our institutions—staking out Their farm lots on the wooded Wakarusa, Or squatting by the mellow-bottomed Kansas; The pioneers
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Appendix (search)
And fixed the padlock fast? Dumb as the black slave of the South Is this thy fate at last? Oh shame! thy honored seal and sign Trod under hoofs so asinine! Call from the Capitol Thy chosen ones again, Unmeet for them the base control Of Slavery's curbing rein! Uunmeet for men like them to feel The spurring of a rider's heel. When votes are things of trade And force is argument, Call back to Quincy's shade Thy old man eloquent. Why leave him longer striving thus With the wild beasts of Ephesus! Back from the Capital— It is no place for thee! Beneath the arch of Heaven's blue wall, Thy voice may still be free! What power shall chain thy utterance there, In God's free sun and freer air? A voice is calling thee, From all the martyr graves Of those stern men, in death made free, Who could not live as slaves. The slumberings of thy honored dead Are for thy sake disquieted. So let thy Faneuil Hall By freemen's feet be trod, And give the echoes of its wall Once more to Freedom's God!
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