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[52] And will ye ask me, why this taunt
     Of memories sacred from the scorner?
And why with reckless hand I plant
     A nettle on the graves ye honor?
Not to reproach New England's dead
     This record from the past I summon,
Of manhood to the scaffold led,
     And suffering and heroic woman.

No, for yourselves alone, I turn
     The pages of intolerance over,
That, in their spirit, dark and stern,
     Ye haply may your own discover!
For, if ye claim the ‘pastoral right’
     To silence Freedom's voice of warning,
And from your precincts shut the light
     Of Freedom's day around ye dawning;

If when an earthquake voice of power
     And signs in earth and heaven are showing
That forth, in its appointed hour,
     The Spirit of the Lord is going!
And, with that Spirit, Freedom's light
     On kindred, tongue, and people breaking,
Whose slumbering millions, at the sight,
     In glory and in strength are waking!

When for the sighing of the poor,
     And for the needy, God hath risen,
And chains are breaking, and a door
     Is opening for the souls in prison!
If then ye would, with puny hands,
     Arrest the very work of Heaven,

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