previous next

[71] If it be true that things like these
     To heart and eye bright visions bring,
Shall not far holier memories
     To this memorial cling?
Which needs no mellowing mist of time
     To hide the crimson stains of crime!

Wreck of a temple, unprofaned;
     Of courts where Peace with Freedom trod,
Lifting on high, with hands unstained,
     Thanksgiving unto God;
Where Mercy's voice of love was pleading
     For human hearts in bondage bleeding!

Where, midst the sound of rushing feet
     And curses on the night-air flung,
That pleading voice rose calm and sweet
     From woman's earnest tongue;
And Riot turned his scowling glance,
     Awed, from her tranquil countenance!

That temple now in ruin lies!
     The fire-stain on its shattered wall,
And open to the changing skies
     Its black and roofless hall,
It stands before a nation's sight,
     A gravestone over buried Right!

But from that ruin, as of old,
     The fire-scorched stones themselves are crying,
And from their ashes white and cold
     Its timbers are replying!
A voice which slavery cannot kill
     Speaks from the crumbling arches still!

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.

An XML version of this text is available for download, with the additional restriction that you offer Perseus any modifications you make. Perseus provides credit for all accepted changes, storing new additions in a versioning system.

hide Places (automatically extracted)

View a map of the most frequently mentioned places in this document.

Download Pleiades ancient places geospacial dataset for this text.

hide Display Preferences
Greek Display:
Arabic Display:
View by Default:
Browse Bar: