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[109] Now, the soul alone is willing:
     Faint the heart and weak the knee;
And as yet no lip is thrilling
     With the mighty words, ‘Be Free!’
Tarrieth long the land's Good Angel, but his advent is to be!

Meanwhile, turning from the revel
     To the prison-cell my sight,
For intenser hate of evil,
     For a keener sense of right,
Shaking off thy dust, I thank thee, City of the
     Slaves, to-night!

“To thy duty now and ever!
     Dream no more of rest or stay:
Give to Freedom's great endeavor
     All thou art and hast to-day:”
Thus, above the city's murmur, saith a Voice, or seems to say.

Ye with heart and vision gifted
     To discern and love the right,
Whose worn faces have been lifted
     To the slowly-growing light,
Where from Freedom's sunrise drifted slowly back the murk of night!

Ye who through long years of trial
     Still have held your purpose fast,
While a lengthening shade the dial
     From the westering sunshine cast,
And of hope each hour's denial seemed an echo of the last!

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