Anti-Slavery Poems and Songs of Labor and Reform Part 19

A SABBATH SCENE.

This poem finds its justification in the readiness with which, even in the North, clergymen urged the prompt execution of the Fugitive Slave Law as a Christian duty, and defended the system of slavery as a Bible inst.i.tution.

SCARCE had the solemn Sabbath-bell Ceased quivering in the steeple, Scarce had the parson to his desk Walked stately through his people, When down the summer-shaded street A wasted female figure, With dusky brow and naked feet,

Came rus.h.i.+ng wild and eager.

She saw the white spire through the trees, She heard the sweet hymn swelling O pitying Christ! a refuge give That poor one in Thy dwelling!

Like a scared fawn before the hounds, Right up the aisle she glided, While close behind her, whip in hand, A lank-haired hunter strided.

She raised a keen and bitter cry, To Heaven and Earth appealing; Were manhood's generous pulses dead?

Had woman's heart no feeling?

A score of stout hands rose between The hunter and the flying: Age clenched his staff, and maiden eyes Flashed tearful, yet defying.

"Who dares profane this house and day?"

Cried out the angry pastor.

"Why, bless your soul, the wench's a slave, And I'm her lord and master!

"I've law and gospel on my side, And who shall dare refuse me?"

Down came the parson, bowing low, "My good sir, pray excuse me!

"Of course I know your right divine To own and work and whip her; Quick, deacon, throw that Polyglott Before the wench, and trip her!"

Plump dropped the holy tome, and o'er Its sacred pages stumbling, Bound hand and foot, a slave once more, The hapless wretch lay trembling.

I saw the parson tie the knots, The while his flock addressing, The Scriptural claims of slavery With text on text impressing.

"Although," said he, "on Sabbath day All secular occupations Are deadly sins, we must fulfil Our moral obligations:

"And this commends itself as one To every conscience tender; As Paul sent back Onesimus, My Christian friends, we send her!"

Shriek rose on shriek,--the Sabbath air Her wild cries tore asunder; I listened, with hushed breath, to hear G.o.d answering with his thunder!

All still! the very altar's cloth Had smothered down her shrieking, And, dumb, she turned from face to face, For human pity seeking!

I saw her dragged along the aisle, Her shackles harshly clanking; I heard the parson, over all, The Lord devoutly thanking!

My brain took fire: "Is this," I cried, "The end of prayer and preaching?

Then down with pulpit, down with priest, And give us Nature's teaching!

"Foul shame and scorn be on ye all Who turn the good to evil, And steal the Bible, from the Lord, To give it to the Devil!

"Than garbled text or parchment law I own a statute higher; And G.o.d is true, though every book And every man's a liar!"

Just then I felt the deacon's hand In wrath my coattail seize on; I heard the priest cry, "Infidel!"

The lawyer mutter, "Treason!"

I started up,--where now were church, Slave, master, priest, and people?

I only heard the supper-bell, Instead of clanging steeple.

But, on the open window's sill, O'er which the white blooms drifted, The pages of a good old Book The wind of summer lifted,

And flower and vine, like angel wings Around the Holy Mother, Waved softly there, as if G.o.d's truth And Mercy kissed each other.

And freely from the cherry-bough Above the cas.e.m.e.nt swinging, With golden bosom to the sun, The oriole was singing.

As bird and flower made plain of old The lesson of the Teacher, So now I heard the written Word Interpreted by Nature.

For to my ear methought the breeze Bore Freedom's blessed word on; Thus saith the Lord: Break every yoke, Undo the heavy burden

1850.

IN THE EVIL DAYS.

This and the four following poems have special reference to that darkest hour in the aggression of slavery which preceded the dawn of a better day, when the conscience of the people was roused to action.

THE evil days have come, the poor Are made a prey; Bar up the hospitable door, Put out the fire-lights, point no more The wanderer's way.

For Pity now is crime; the chain Which binds our States Is melted at her hearth in twain, Is rusted by her tears' soft rain Close up her gates.

Our Union, like a glacier stirred By voice below, Or bell of kine, or wing of bird, A beggar's crust, a kindly word May overthrow!

Poor, whispering tremblers! yet we boast Our blood and name; Bursting its century-bolted frost, Each gray cairn on the Northman's coast Cries out for shame!

Oh for the open firmament, The prairie free, The desert hillside, cavern-rent, The p.a.w.nee's lodge, the Arab's tent, The Bushman's tree!

Than web of Persian loom most rare, Or soft divan, Better the rough rock, bleak and bare, Or hollow tree, which man may share With suffering man.

I hear a voice: "Thus saith the Law, Let Love be dumb; Clasping her liberal hands in awe, Let sweet-lipped Charity withdraw From hearth and home."

I hear another voice: "The poor Are thine to feed; Turn not the outcast from thy door, Nor give to bonds and wrong once more Whom G.o.d hath freed."

Dear Lord! between that law and Thee No choice remains; Yet not untrue to man's decree, Though spurning its rewards, is he Who bears its pains.

Not mine Sedition's trumpet-blast And threatening word; I read the lesson of the Past, That firm endurance wins at last More than the sword.

O clear-eyed Faith, and Patience thou So calm and strong!

Lend strength to weakness, teach us how The sleepless eyes of G.o.d look through This night of wrong.

1850.