The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

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[129] He set his face against the blast,
     His feet against the flinty shard,
Till the hard service grew, at last,
     Its own exceeding great reward.

Lifted like Saul's above the crowd,
     Upon his kingly forehead fell
The first sharp bolt of Slavery's cloud,
     Launched at the truth he urged so well.

Ah! never yet, at rack or stake,
     Was sorer loss made Freedom's gain,
Than his, who suffered for her sake
     The beak-torn Titan's lingering pain!

The fixed star of his faith, through all
     Loss, doubt, and peril, shone the same;
As through a night of storm, some tall,
     Strong lighthouse lifts its steady flame.

Beyond the dust and smoke he saw
     The sheaves of Freedom's large increase,
The holy fanes of equal law,
     The New Jerusalem of peace.

The weak might fear, the worldling mock,
     The faint and blind of heart regret;
All knew at last th' eternal rock
     On which his forward feet were set.

The subtlest scheme of compromise
     Was folly to his purpose bold;
The strongest mesh of party lies
     Weak to the simplest truth he told.