May-Day Part 3

Deep in the man sits fast his fate To mould his fortunes mean or great: Unknown to Cromwell as to me Was Cromwell's measure or degree; Unknown to him, as to his horse, If he than his groom be better or worse.

He works, plots, fights, in rude affairs, With squires, lords, kings, his craft compares, Till late he learned, through doubt and fear, Broad England harboured not his peer: Obeying Time, the last to own The Genius from its cloudy throne.

For the prevision is allied Unto the thing so signified; Or say, the foresight that awaits Is the same Genius that creates.

FREEDOM.

Once I wished I might rehea.r.s.e Freedom's paean in my verse, That the slave who caught the strain Should throb until he snapped his chain.

But the Spirit said, 'Not so; Speak it not, or speak it low; Name not lightly to be said, Gift too precious to be prayed, Pa.s.sion not to be expressed But by heaving of the breast: Yet,--wouldst thou the mountain find Where this deity is shrined, Who gives to seas and sunset skies Their unspent beauty of surprise, And, when it lists him, waken can Brute or savage into man; Or, if in thy heart he s.h.i.+ne, Blends the starry fates with thine, Draws angels nigh to dwell with thee, And makes thy thoughts archangels be; Freedom's secret wilt thou know?-- Counsel not with flesh and blood; Loiter not for cloak or food; Right thou feelest, rush to do.'

ODE SUNG IN THE TOWN HALL, CONCORD, JULY 4, 1857.

O tenderly the haughty day Fills his blue urn with fire; One morn is in the mighty heaven, And one in our desire.

The cannon booms from town to town, Our pulses are not less, The joy-bells chime their tidings down, Which children's voices bless.

For He that flung the broad blue fold O'er-mantling land and sea, One third part of the sky unrolled For the banner of the free.

The men are ripe of Saxon kind To build an equal state,-- To take the statute from the mind, And make of duty fate.

United States! the ages plead,-- Present and Past in under-song,-- Go put your creed into your deed, Nor speak with double tongue.

For sea and land don't understand, Nor skies without a frown See rights for which the one hand fights By the other cloven down.

Be just at home; then write your scroll Of honour o'er the sea, And bid the broad Atlantic roll, A ferry of the free.

And, henceforth, there shall be no chain, Save underneath the sea The wires shall murmur through the main Sweet songs of LIBERTY.

The conscious stars accord above, The waters wild below, And under, through the cable wove, Her fiery errands go.

For He that worketh high and wise, Nor pauses in his plan, Will take the sun out of the skies Ere freedom out of man.

BOSTON HYMN.

READ IN MUSIC HALL, JANUARY 1, 1863.

The word of the Lord by night To the watching Pilgrims came, As they sat by the seaside, And filled their hearts with flame.

G.o.d said, I am tired of kings, I suffer them no more; Up to my ear the morning brings The outrage of the poor.

Think ye I made this ball A field of havoc and war, Where tyrants great and tyrants small Might harry the weak and poor?

My angel, his name is Freedom,-- Choose him to be your king; He shall cut pathways east and west, And fend you with his wing.

Lo! I uncover the land Which I hid of old time in the West, As the sculptor uncovers the statue When he has wrought his best;

I show Columbia, of the rocks Which dip their foot in the seas, And soar to the air-borne flocks Of clouds, and the boreal fleece.

I will divide my goods; Call in the wretch and slave: None shall rule but the humble, And none but Toil shall have.

I will have never a n.o.ble, No lineage counted great; Fishers and choppers and ploughmen Shall const.i.tute a state.

Go, cut down trees in the forest, And trim the straightest boughs; Cut down the trees in the forest, And build me a wooden house.

Call the people together, The young men and the sires, The digger in the harvest field, Hireling, and him that hires;

And here in a pine state-house They shall choose men to rule In every needful faculty, In church, and state, and school.

Lo, now! if these poor men Can govern the land and sea, And make just laws below the sun, As planets faithful be.

And ye shall succour men; 'T is n.o.bleness to serve; Help them who cannot help again: Beware from right to swerve.

I break your bonds and masters.h.i.+ps, And I unchain the slave: Free be his heart and hand henceforth As wind and wandering wave.

I cause from every creature His proper good to flow: As much as he is and doeth, So much he shall bestow.

But laying hands on another To coin his labour and sweat, He goes in p.a.w.n to his victim For eternal years in debt.

To-day unbind the captive, So only are ye unbound; Lift up a people from the dust, Trump of their rescue, sound!

Pay ransom to the owner, And fill the bag to the brim.

Who is the owner? The slave is owner, And ever was. Pay him.

O North! give him beauty for rags, And honour, O South! for his shame; Nevada! coin thy golden crags With Freedom's image and name.

Up! and the dusky race That sat in darkness long,-- Be swift their feet as antelopes, And as behemoth strong.

Come, East and West and North, By races, as snow-flakes, And carry my purpose forth, Which neither halts nor shakes.

My will fulfilled shall be, For, in daylight or in dark, My thunderbolt has eyes to see His way home to the mark.

VOLUNTARIES.

I.

Low and mournful be the strain, Haughty thought be far from me; Tones of penitence and pain, Moanings of the tropic sea; Low and tender in the cell Where a captive sits in chains, Crooning ditties treasured well From his Afric's torrid plains.

Sole estate his sire bequeathed-- Hapless sire to hapless son-- Was the wailing song he breathed, And his chain when life was done.

What his fault, or what his crime?