The Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier

THE tall, sallow guardsmen their horse- Off with hats, down with knees, shout tails have spread,

your vivas like mad!

Flaming out in their violet, yellow, and Here's the Pope in his holiday righteousness clad,

red;

rolled),

From shorn crown to toe-nail, kiss-worn (As if Judas and Herod together were to the quick, Of sainthood in purple the pattern and Who keeps, all as one, the Pope's pick, conscience and gold, Who the rôle of the priest and the soldier Mounts guard on the altar, and pilfers

Hist! here's the arch-knave in a cardinal's So bless us the strong hand, and curse us hat, the weak;

With the heart of a wolf, and the stealth Let Austria's vulture have food for her

of a cat

beak;

I know the pent fire heaves its crust,

That sultry skies the bolt will form To smite them clear; that Nature must The balance of her powers adjust,

begirt

By grateful hearts alone.
The moated wall and battle-ship may fail,
But safe shall justice prove;

Though with the earthquake and the Stronger than greaves of brass or iron

storm.

God reigns, and let the earth rejoice!

I bow before His sterner plan. Dumb are the organs of my choice; He speaks in battle's stormy voice,

His praise is in the wrath of man!

Yet, surely as He lives, the day

Disarmament

And he whose grave is holy by our calm And prairied Sangamon,

From his gaunt hand shall drop the martyr's palm

To greet thee with 'Well done!'

417

The praise, O God, be Thine alone! 25
Thou givest not for bread a stone;
Thou hast not led us through the night
To blind us with returning light;
Not through the furnace have we passed,

And thou, O Earth, with smiles thy face To perish at its mouth at last.

make sweet,

AFTER ELECTION.

THE day's sharp strife is ended now,
Our work is done, God knoweth how!
As on the thronged, unrestful town
The patience of the moon looks down,
I wait to hear, beside the wire,
The voices of its tongues of fire.

Slow, doubtful, faint, they seem at first:
Be strong, my heart, to know the worst!
Hark! there the Alleghanies spoke;
That sound from lake and prairie broke,
That sunset-gun of triumph rent
The silence of a continent !

O men and brothers! let that voice be heard.

War fails, try peace; put up the useless sword! Fear not the end. In Eastern tents, grow cold,

There is a story told when autumn nights

And round the fire the Mongol shepherds
sit
With grave responses listening unto it:
Once, on the errands of his mercy bent,
Buddha, the holy and benevolent,
Met a fell monster, huge and fierce of look,
Whose awful voice the hills and forests

'O son of peace!' the giant cried, 'thy

fate

Is sealed at last, and love shall yield to

hate.'

The unarmed Buddha looking, with no
trace

Of fear or anger, in the monster's face,
In pity said: 'Poor fiend, even thee
I love.'
25

Lo! as he spake the sky-tall terror sank
To hand-breadth size; the huge abhorrence
shrank

And spreads the table of its luxuries. The interests of the rich man and the poor

Are one and same, inseparable evermore;
And, when scant wage or labor fail to give
Food, shelter, raiment, wherewithal to
live,

Need has its rights, necessity its claim.
Yea, even self-wrought misery and shame
Test well the charity suffering long and
kind.
26

Into the form and fashion of a dove; And where the thunder of its rage was heard, Circling above him sweetly sang the bird: The home-pressed question of the age can 'Hate hath no harm for love,' so ran the song;

'And peace unweaponed conquers every wrong!'

1871.

THE PROBLEM.

find

No answer in the catch-words of the blind
Leaders of blind. Solution there is none
Save in the Golden Rule of Christ alone. 30
1877.

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The Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier: With Notes, Index of First ...