Oh ! loftier halls, 'neath brighter skies than these,
Stood darkly mirrored in the Ægean seas,
Pillar and shrine — and life-like statues seen,
Graceful and pure, the marble shafts between,
Where glorious Athens from her rocky hill
Saw Art and Beauty subject to her will —
And the chaste temple, and the classic grove -
The hall of sages and the bowers of love,
Arch, fane, and column, graced the shores, and gave
Their shadows to the blue Saronic wave ;
And statelier rose, on Tiber's winding side,
The Pantheon's dome — the Coliseum's pride
The Capitol, whose arches backward flung
The deep, clear cadence of the Roman tongue,
Whence stern decrees, like words of fate, went forth
To the awed nations of a conquered earth,
Where the proud Cæsars in their glory came,
And Brutus lightened from his lips of flame !
Yet in the porches of Athena’s halls,
And in the shadows of her stately walls,
Lurked the sad bondman, and his tears of woe
Wet the cold marble with unheeded flow;
And fetters clanked beneath the silver dome
Of the proud Pantheon of imperious Rome.
Oh ! not for him - the chained and stricken slave -
By Tiber's shore, or blue Ægina's wave,
In the thronged forum, or the sages' seat,
The bold lip pleaded, and the warm heart beat ;
No soul of sorrow melted at his pain,
No tear of pity rusted on his chain !
But this fair Hall, to Truth and Freedom given,
Pledged to the Right before all Earth and Heaven,
A free arena for the strife of mind,
To caste, or sect, or color unconfined,
Shall thrill with echoes, such as ne'er of old
From Roman hall, or Grecian temple rolled ;
Thoughts shall find utterance, such as never yet
The Propylea or the Forum met.
Beneath its roof no gladiator's strife
Shall win applauses with the waste of life ;
No lordly lictor urge the barbarous game
No wanton Lais glory in her shame.
But here the tear of sympathy shall flow,
As the ear listens to the tale of woe ;
Here, in stern judgment of the oppressor's wrong
Shall strong rebukings thrill on Freedom's tongue –
No partial justice hold the unequal scale -
No pride of caste a brother's rights assail
No tyrant's mandates echo from this wall,
Holy to Freedom and the Rights of All !
But a fair field, where mind may close with mind,
Free as the sunshine and the chainless wind;
Where the high trust is fixed on Truth alone,
And bonds and fetters from the soul are thrown ;
Where wealth, and rank, and worldly pomp, and might,
Yield to the presence of the True and Right.
And fitting is it that this Hall should stand
Where Pennsylvania's Founder led his band,
From thy blue waters, Delaware !
to press
The virgin verdure of the wilderness.
Here, where all Europe with amazement saw
The soul's high freedom trammeled by no law ;
Here, where the fierce and warlike forest-men
Gathered in peace, around the home of Penn,
Awed by the weapons Love alone had given,
Drawn from the holy armory of Heaven ;
Where Nature's voice against the bondman's wrong
First found an earnest and indignant tongue ;
Where Lay's bold message to the proud was borne,
And Keith's rebuke, and FRANKLIN's manly scorn-
Fitting it is that here, where Freedom first
From her fair feet shook off the Old World's dust,
Spread her white pinions to our Western blast,
And her free tresses to our sunshine cast,
One Hall should rise redeemed from Slavery's ban
One Temple sacred to the Rights of Man !
Oh ! if the spirits of the parted come,
Visiting angels, to their olden home;
If the dead fathers of the land look forth
From their far dwellings, to the things of earth
Is it a dream, that with their eyes of love,
They gaze now on us from the bowers above ?
LAY's ardent soul — and BENEZET the mild,
Steadfast in faith, yet gentle as a child -
Meek-hearted WoOLMAN, — and that brother-band,
The sorrowing exiles from their “FATHER LAND,”
Leaving their homes in Krieshiem's bowers of vine,
And the blue beauty of their glorious Rhine,
To seek amidst our solemn depths of wood
Freedom from man and holy peace with God;
Who first of all their testimonial gave
Against the oppressor, — for the outcast slave,
Is it a dream that such as these look down,
And with their blessing our rejoicings crown?
Let us rejoice, that, while the pulpit's door
Is barred against the pleaders for the poor ;
While the church, wrangling upon points of faith,
Forgets her bondmen suffering unto death ;
While crafty traffic and the lust of gain
Unite to forge oppression's triple chain,
One door is open, and one Temple free
As a resting place for hunted Liberty !
Where men may speak, unshackled and unawed,
High words of truth, for Freedom and for God.
And when that truth its perfect work hath done,
And rich with blessings o'er our land hath gone ;
When not a slave beneath his yoke shall pine,
From broad Potomac to the far Sabine ;
When unto angel-lips at last is given
The silver trump of Jubilee to Heaven ;
And from Virginia's plains — Kentucky's shades,
And through the dim Floridian everglades,
Rises, to meet that angel-trumpet's sound,
The voice of millions from their chains unbound
Then, though this Hall be crumbling in decay,
Its strong walls blending with the common clay,
Yet, round the ruins of its strength shall stand
The best and noblest of a ransomed land
Pilgrims, like those who throng around the shrine
Of Mecca, or of holy Palestine !
A prouder glory shall that ruin own
Than that which lingers round the Parthenon.
Here shall the child of after years be taught
The work of Freedom which his fathers wrought
Told of the trials of the present hour,
Our weary strife with prejudice and power,
How the high errand quickened woman's soul,
And touched her lip as with a living coal
How Freedom's martyrs kept their lofty faith,
True and unwavering, unto bonds and death.
The pencil's art shall sketch the ruined Hall,
The Muses' garland crown its aged wall,
And History's pen for after times record
Its consecration unto FREEDOM's God !
WHEN Freedom, on her natal day,
Within her war-rocked cradle lay,
An iron race around her stood,
Baptized her infant brow in blood
And, through the storm which round her swept,
Their constant ward and watching kept.
Then, where our quiet herds repose,
The roar of baleful battle rose,
And brethren of a common tongue
To mortal strife as tigers sprung,
And every gift on Freedom's shrine
Was man for beast, and blood for wine !
Our fathers to their graves have gone ;
Their strife is past — their triumph won ;
But sterner trials wait the race
Which rises in their honored place
A moral warfare with the crime
And folly of an evil time.
So let it be. In God's own might
We gird us for the coming fight,
And, strong in Him whose cause is ours
In conflict with unholy powers,
We grasp the weapons He has given, -
The Light, and Truth, and Love of Heaven !
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