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VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED.
POEMS ON SOME INCIDENTS OF ANTI-SLAVERY. TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES B. STORRS,
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
Was it right,
Late President of Western Reserve College. While my unnumbered brethren toiled and bled, That I should dream away the entrusted hours On rose leaf beds, pampering the coward heart, With feelings all too delicate for use ?
“ He fell a martyr to the interests of his colored brethren.
For many months did that mighty man of God apply his dis. The general history of any one radical reform is
criminating and gigantic mind to the subject of Slavery and the history of all. There is, at first, the deep con
its remedy : and, when his soul could no longer contain his viction of right, and devotedness to the truth what.
holy indignation against the upholders and apologists of this ever betide, opposed by the scorn loathing,and hatred
unrighteous system, he gave veut to his aching heart, and of the mass. Then comes open violence beating down, if possible, the firm endurance of men who poured forth his clear thoughts and holy feelings in such deep have foreseen the peril and do not fear to brave it. and soul-entrancing eloquence, that other men, whom he Then is heard above the clamor the voices of some
would fain in his humble modesty acknowledge his superiors, few whom the world calls noble, who yet by the sat at bis feet and looked up as children to a parent.”-Cor. world's love are not altogether corrupt. And then respondent of the ' Liberator,' 16th of 11th mo. 1839. peal upon peal arise the shouts of victory after vic Thou hast fallen in thine armor, tory by those who, once dispised, are now going on
Thou martyr of the Lord ! conquering and to conquer. Then high names are
With thy last breath crying—« Ouward !” given to martyrs; and men believing them to be
And thy hand upon the sword. God-sent, and therefore inimitable, sit down with
The haughty heart derideth, folded arms while the roar, it may be, of a yet And the sinful lip reviles, mightier combat is raging around them.
But the blessing of the perishing Such was the case when Socrates drank the hem.
Around thy pillow smiles ! lock; when Jesus was the Word-made-flesh, and was nailed to the cross; when Luther rocked Catholic
When to our cup of trembling dom with its array of soulless mummeries and count
The added drop is given, less heresies, to its foundation; when George Fox
And the long suspended thunder shook priestdom in England sorely; and when Sharpe
Falls terribly from Heaven,and Wilberforce and Clarkson pleaded for the rights When a new and fearful freedom against the powers of men, and gave to the world a
Is proffer'd of the Lord most noble proof of Truth's might. And such too, is
To the slow consuming Famine now the case when Anti-Slavery-tbat only demo
The Pestilence and Sword !cracy which our nation has-defying the triple alliance of Love of Power with Love of Gold and
When the refuges of Falsehood Hatred of Man, has kept to the breeze its banner
Shall be swept away in wrath, these more than twenty years, bearing it up and
And the temple shall be shaken Jown through church aisles and legislative halls, With its idol to the earth, flapping it in the faces of drowsy wealth and rank,
Shall not thy words of warning and, from beneath it, pouring out defiance and re
Be all remember'd then ? solve upon the startled ear of oppression.
And thy now unheeded message In that warfare have been many incidents right
Burn in the hearts of men ? worthy of the poet's song. And well have some of them been used. I have hastily thrown together
Oppression's hand may scatter such poems upon them as are at hand, with this
Its nettles on thy tomb, eulogium—that never in any struggle did more Man.
And even Christian bosoms ly and Christian poetry gush up from the deep fonn
Deny thy memory room ; tains of the soul.
Lo-the waking up of nations,
From Slavery's fatal sleepThe murmur of a Universe
Deep calling unto Deep! Joy to thy spirit, brother!
On every wind of Heaven The onward cheer and summons
Of FEEEDOM's soul is given!
Glory to God for ever!
Beyond the despot's will The soul of Freedom liveth
Imperishable still. The words which thou hast utter'd
Are of that soul a part, And the good seed thou hast scatter'd
Is springing from the heart.
Up to our altars, then,
Haste we, and summon Courage and loveliness,
Manhood and woman! Deep let our pledges be:
Freedom for ever ! Truce with Oppression,
Never, oh! never! By our own birthright-gift,
Granted of HeavenFreedom for heart and lip,
Be the pledge given! If we have whisper'd truth,
Whisper no longer; Speak as the tempest does,
Sterner and stronger; Still be the tones of truth
Louder and firmer, Startling the haughty South
With the deep murmur; God and our charter's right,
Freedom for ever! Truce with Oppression,
Never, oh! never !
In the evil days before us,
And the trials yet to comeIn the shadow of the prison,
Or the cruel martyrdomWe will think of thee, O brother!
And thy sainted name shall be In the blessing of the captive,
And the anthem of the free.
TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS SHIPLEY.
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
President of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society, who died on the 17th of the 9th month, 1836, a devoted Christian and Philanthropist.
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
Gone to thy Heavenly Father's rest!
The flowers of Eden round thee blowing, And on thine ear the murmurs blest
Of Shiloah's waters softly flowing !
And wandering by that sacred river,
The city of our God for ever!
Gentlest of spirits !--not for thee
Our tears are shed-our sighs are given : Why mourn to know thou art a free
Partaker of the joys of Heaven?
When Autumn's sun is downward going, The blessed memory of thy worth
Around thy place of slumber glowing !
In the Report of the celebrated pro-slavery meeting, in Charleston, s. c., on the 4th of the 9th month, 1835, published in the Courier of that city, it is stated, The CLERGY of all denominations altended in a body, LENDING THEIR SANCTION TO THR PROCEEDINGS, and adding by their presence to the impres. sive character of the scene!"
Just God !--and these are they Who minister at Thine altar, God of Right! Men who their hands with prayer and blessing lay
On Israel's Ark of light !
What! preach and kidnap men?
Bolt hard the captive's door?
What! servants of Thy own
The task'd and plunder'd slave!
Pilate and Herod, friends!
Strength to the spoiler, Thine ?
Paid hypocrites, who turn Judgment aside, and rob the Holy Book Of those high words of truth which search and burn
In warning and rebuke.
Feed sat, ye locusts, feed !
Ye pile your own full board.
How long, O Lord! how long
At Thy own altars pray?
Is not thy hand stretch'd forth Visibly in the heavens, to awe and smite ? Shall not the living God of all the earth,
And heaven above, do right?
Woe, then, to all who grind
Its bright and glorious crown!
Woe to the Priesthood! woe
The searching truths of God!
Their glory and their might
Of A WORLD'S LIBERTY.
Oh! speed the moment on When Wrong shall cease-and Liberty, and Love, And Truth, and Right, throughout the earth be known
As in their home above.
But woe for us! who linger still
With feebler strength and hearts less lowly, And minds less steadfast to the will
Of Him whose every work is holy.
And for the outcast and forsaken,
Our weaker sympathies awaken.
Darkly upon our struggling way
The storm of human hate is sweeping; Hunted and branded, and a prey,
Our watch amidst the darkness keeping ! Oh! for that hidden strength which can Nerve unto death the inner man ! Oh! for thy spirit, tried and true,
And constant in the hour of trial, Prepared to suffer, or to do,
In meekness and in self-denial.
Oh! for that spirit, meek and mild,
Derided, spurned, yet uncomplainingBy man deserted and reviled,
Yet faithful to its trust remaining. Still prompt and resolute to save From scourge and chain the hunted slave! Unwavering in the Truth's defence,
Even where the fires of Hate are burning, Th’ unquailing eye of innocence
Alone upon th' oppressor turning!
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
From each and all, if God hath not forsaken
Our land, and left us to an evil choice,
A PEOPLE'S VOICE. “ Bill of Abominations" to a second reading, in the Senate of the United States.
Startling and stern! the Northern winds shall bear it
Over Potomac's to St. Mary's wave;
Within her grave. Now, by our fathers' ashes ! where's the spirit
or the true-hearted and the unshackled gone ? Oh, let that voice go forth! The bondman sighing Sons of old freemen, do we but inberit
By Santee's wave, in Mississippi's cane,
Let it go forth! The millions who are gazing
Bless us the while. No. When our land to ruin's brink is verging,
In God's name, let us speak while there is time ! Oh, for your ancient freedom, pure and holy,
For the deliverance of a groaning earth,
Let it go forth! Wbat! shall we henceforth humbly ask as favors
Sons of the best of fathers ! will ye falter
With all they left ye peril'd and at stake?
The fire awake! Here shall the statesman seek the free to fetter?
Prayer-strengthen'd for the trial, come together, Here Lynch law light its horrid fires on high? Put on the harness for the moral fight, And, in the church, their proud and skill'd abettor, And, with the blessing of your heavenly Father, Make truth a lie ?
MAINTAIN THE RIGHT!
It comes to thee, Alton, by day or by night,
Weep-for a brother fallen !--weep for him
Whose light of gladness is for ever dim! Shall shriek as it mutters, the cradle near, Who of us, next, on Slavery's bloody altar In a whisper so loud that the dead might hear, Shall meet his doom? Thou only knowest, God! "I AM BLOOD!—THE VOICE OF BLOOD!"
Yet will we tread the path our brother trod, Trusting in Thee! Our spirits shall not falter
Amid the darkness of the coming strife, In street, lane, and alley, in parlor and hall,
Though drunk with agony the soul should reel! That sepulchre voice is there
Here, Lovejoy! on thy bloody grave we kneel, Crying.-«Hear, hear the martyr's imploring call!
And pledge anew our fortune-honor-life-
All for the slave!
Farewell!-thy rest is won !
One tear for thee-then, strengthened, press we on! In church-aisle and dwelling, in cellar and dome,
To cry with the tongue of the air ;
BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
1160 could ye not hear when the young mother plead
For the babe starting wild by her side ? -
He stood upon the world's broad threshold ; wide
The din of battle and of slaughter rose ;
He saw God stand upon the weaker side,
That sank in seeming loss before its foes ; Wake, wake, Illinois! for through prairie and Many there were who made great haste and sold glen
Unto the cunning enemy their swords; There is blood !-there's the voice of blood ! He scorned their gifts of same, and power, and gold, It bids thee arouse, or the rust on their chain
And, underneath their soft and flowery words, Shall scar the fair necks of your daughters—a stain Heard the cold serpent hiss; therefore he went
Bleach'd alone by your hearts' hot food; And humbly joined him to the weaker part, Your sons low in manacles crouch at your feet Fanatic named, and fool, yet well content Where the prairie-fowl starts at the young lamb So he could be the nearer to God's heart, kins' bleat,
And feel its solemn pulses sending blood