Texas
by John Greenleaf Whittier�(1807�1892) |
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UP the hillside, down the glen,
Rouse the sleeping
citizen;
Summon out the might of men!
Like a lion
growling low,�
Like a night-storm rising slow,�
Like
the tread of unseen foe,�
It is coming,�it is nigh!
Stand your homes and altars by;
On your own free
thresholds die.
Clang the bells in all your spires;
On the gray hills of your sires
Fling to heaven your
signal-fires.
From Wachusett, lone and bleak,
Unto
Berkshire's tallest peak,
Let the flame-tongued heralds
speak.
Oh, for God and duty stand,
Heart to heart
and hand to hand,
Round the old graves of the land.
Whoso shrinks or falters now,
Whoso to the yoke would
bow,
Brand the craven on his brow!
Freedom's soil
hath only place
For a free and fearless race,�
None
for traitors false and base.
Perish party,�perish
clan;
Strike together while ye can,
Like the arm of
one strong man.
Like that angel's voice sublime,
Heard above a world of crime,
Crying of the end of time,�
With one heart and with one mouth,
Let the North unto
the South
Speak the word befitting both:
"What
though Issachar be strong!
Ye may load his back with
wrong
Overmuch and over long;
"Patience with her
cup o'errun,
With her weary thread outspun,
Murmurs
that her work is done.
"Make our Union-bond a chain,
Weak as tow in Freedom's strain
Link by link shall snap
in twain.
"Vainly shall your sand-wrought rope
Bind the starry cluster up,
Shattered over heaven's blue
cope!
"Give us bright though broken rays,
Rather
than eternal haze,
Clouding o'er the full-orbed blaze.
"Take your land of sun and bloom;
Only leave to
Freedom room
For her plough and forge and loom;
"Take your slavery-blackened vales;
Leave us but our own
free gales,
Blowing on our thousand sails.
"Boldly, or with treacherous art,
Strike the
blood-wrought chain apart;
Break the Union's mighty
heart;
"Work the ruin, if ye will;
Pluck upon your
heads an ill
Which shall grow and deepen still.
"With your bondman's right arm bare,
With his heart of
black despair,
Stand alone, if stand ye dare!
"Onward with your fell design;
Dig the gulf and draw the
line:
Fire beneath your feet the mine:
"Deeply,
when the wide abyss
Yawns between your land and this,
Shall ye feel your helplessness.
"By the hearth, and
in the bed
Shaken by a look or tread,
Ye shall own a
guilty dread.
"And the curse of unpaid toil,
Downward through your generous soil
Like a fire shall
burn and spoil.
"Our bleak hills shall bud and blow,
Vines our rocks shall overgrow,
Plenty in our valleys
flow;�
"And when vengeance clouds your skies,
Hither shall ye turn your eyes,
As the lost on Paradise!
"We but ask our rocky strand,
Freedom's true and
brother band,
Freedom's strong and honest hand,�
"Valleys by the slave untrod,
And the Pilgrim's mountain
sod,
Blessed of our fathers' God!" |
By John Greenleaf Whittier�(1807�1892)
Listed May 8, 2014 |
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