Still shines the light of holy lives O friend! O brother! not in vain How many burdened hearts have prayed With weary hand, yet steadfast will, Thy Master found thee sowing still As on thy task-field closed the day His angel met thee on the way, Thy latest care for man--thy last Methinks the mound which marks thy bed Might bless our land and save, As rose, of old, to life the dead Who touched the prophet's grave! RANTOUL. 213 RANTOUL.22 ONE day, along the electric wire Dead! while his voice was living yet, With themes of state and loves of home! Dead! in that crowning grace of time, That triumph of life's zenith hour! Dead! while we watched his manhood's prime Break from the slow bud into flower! Dead! he so great, and strong, and wise, While the mean thousands yet drew breath; How deepened, through that dread surprise, The mystery and the awe of death! From the high place whereon our votes We seemed to see our flag unfurled, Through him we hoped to speak the word And lift, for human right, the sword Which dropped from Hampden's dying hand. For he had sat at Sidney's feet, And walked with Pym and Vane apart; And, through the centuries, felt the beat Of Freedom's march in Cromwell's heart. He knew the paths the worthies held, No wild enthusiast of the right, His steps were slow, yet forward still He pressed where others paused or failed; The calm star clomb with constant will— The restless meteor flashed and paled! Skilled in its subtlest wile, he knew The awful Shape the schoolman saw. Her home the heart of God; her voice The stars, through all their spheres, rejoice, We saw his great powers misapplied We saw him take the weaker side, And right the wronged, and free the thrall Now, looking o'er the frozen North For one like him in word and act, To call her old, free spirit forth, And give her faith the life of fact RANTOUL. To wreak her party bonds of shame, We e sweep the land from hill to strand, There, where his breezy hills of home 215 "Why, murmuring, mourn that he, whose power Was lent to Party over long, Heard the still whisper at the hour He set his foot on Party wrong? "The human life that closed so well ic Mightier than living voice his grave That lofty protest utters o'er; Through roaring wind and smiting wave It speaks his hate of wrong once more. "Men of the North! your weak regret Is wasted here; arise and pay To freedom and to him your debt, By following where he led the way!" THE DREAM OF PIO NONO. Ir chanced, that while the pious troops of France Fought in the crusade Pio Nono preached, What time the holy Bourbons stayed his hands (The Hur and Aaron meet for such a Moses), Stretched forth from Naples towards rebellious Rome To bless the ministry of Oudinot, And sanctify his iron homilies And sharp persuasions of the bayonet, He stood by Lake Tiberias, in the sun Of the bright Orient; and beheld the lame, The sick, and blind, kneel at the Master's feet, And rise up whole. And, sweetly over all, Dropping the ladder of their hymn of praise From heaven to earth, in silver rounds of song, He heard the blessed angels sing of peace, Good-will to man, and glory to the Lord. Then one, with feet unshod, and leathern face Hardened and darkened by fierce summer suns And hot winds of the desert, closer drew His fisher's haick, and girded up his loins, And spake, as one who had authority: "Come thou with me." Lake-side and eastern sky And the sweet song of angels passed away, |