Poems by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Part 12

The Indian stood despoiled of lands, The Negro bound with servile bands, Oppressed through weary years of toil, His blood and tears bedewed the soil.

76 THEN AND NOW.

Then G.o.d arose in dreadful wrath, And judgment streamed around his path; His hand the captive's fetters broke, His lightnings shattered every yoke.

As Israel through the Red sea trod, Led by the mighty hand of G.o.d, They pa.s.sed to freedom through a flood, Whose every wave and surge was blood.

And slavery, with its crime and shame, Went down in wrath and blood and flame The land was billowed-o'er with graves Where men had lived and died as slaves.

Four and thirty years--what change since then!

Beings once chattles now are men; Over the gloom of slavery's night, Has flashed the dawn of freedom's light.

To-day no mother with anguish wild Kneels and implores that her darling child Shall not be torn from her bleeding heart, With its quivering tendrils rent apart.

The father may soothe his child to sleep, And watch his slumbers calm and deep.

No tyrant's tread will disturb his rest Where freedom dwells as a welcome guest.

THEN AND NOW. 77

His walls may be bare of pictured grace, His fireside the lowliest place; But the wife and children sheltered there Are his to defend and guard with care.

Where haughty tyrants once bore rule Are ballot-box and public school.

The old slave-pen of former days Gives place to fanes of prayer and praise.

To-night we would bring our meed of praise To n.o.ble friends of darker days; The men and women crowned with light, The true and tried in our gloomy night.

To Lundy, whose heart was early stirred To speak for freedom an earnest word; To Garrison, valiant, true and strong, Whose face was as flint against our wrong.

And Phillips, the peerless, grand and brave, A tower of strength to the outcast slave.

Earth has no marble too pure and white To enrol his name in golden light.

Our Dougla.s.s, too, with his ma.s.sive brain, Who plead our cause with his broken chain, And helped to hurl from his b.l.o.o.d.y seat The curse that writhed and died at his feet.

78 THEN AND NOW.

And Governor Andrew, who, looking back, Saw none he despised, though poor and black; And Harriet Beecher, whose glowing pen Corroded the chains of fettered men.

To-night with greenest laurels we'll crown North Elba's grave where sleeps John Brown, Who made the gallows an altar high, And showed how a brave old man could die.

And Lincoln, our martyred President, Who returned to his G.o.d with chains he had rent.*

And Sumner, amid death's icy chill, Leaving to h.o.a.r his Civil Rights Bill.

And let us remember old underground, With all her pa.s.sengers northward bound, The train that ran till it ceased to pay, With all her dividends given away.

Nor let it be said that we have forgot The women who stood with Lucretia Mott; Nor her who to the world was known By the simple name of Lucy stone.

A tribute unto a host of others Who knew that men though black were brothers, Who battled against our nation's sin, Whose graves are thick whose ranks are thin.

Oh, people chastened in the fire, To n.o.bler, grander things aspire;

MACEO. 79

In the new era of your life, Bring love for hate, and peace for strife; Upon your hearts this vow record That ye will build unto the Lord A n.o.bler future, true and grand, To strengthen, crown and bless the land.

A higher freedom ye may gain Than that which comes from a riven chain; Freedom your native land to bless With peace, and love and righteousness, As dreams that are past, a tale all told, Are the days when men were bought and sold; Now G.o.d be praised from sea to sea, Our flag floats o'er a country free.

MACEO.

Maceo dead! a thrill of sorrow Through our hearts in sadness ran When we felt in one sad hour That the world had lost a man.

He had clasped unto his bosom The sad fortunes of his land-- Held the cause for which he perished With a firm, unfaltering hand.

80 MACEO.

On his lips the name of freedom Fainted with his latest breath.

Cuba Libre was his watchword Pa.s.sing through the gates of death.

With the light of G.o.d around us, Why this agony and strife?

With the cross of Christ before us, Why this fearful waste of life?

Must the pathway unto freedom Ever mark a crimson line, And the eyes of wayward mortals Always close to light divine?

Must the hearts of fearless valor Fail 'mid crime and cruel wrong, When the world has read of heroes Brave and earnest, true and strong?

Men to stay the floods of sorrow Sweeping round each war-crushed heart; Men to say to strife and carnage-- From our world henceforth depart.

G.o.d of peace and G.o.d of nations, Haste! oh, haste the glorious day

MACEO. 81

When the reign of our Redeemer O'er the world shall have its sway.

When the swords now blood encrusted, Spears that reap the battle field, Shall be changed to higher service, Helping earth rich harvests yield.

Where the widow weeps in anguish, And the orphan bows his head, Grant that peace and joy and gladness May like holy angels tread.

Pity, oh, our G.o.d the sorrow Of thy world from thee astray, Lead us from the paths of madness Unto Christ the living way.

Year by year the world grows weary 'Neath its weight of sin and strife, Though the hands once pierced and bleeding Offer more abundant life.

May the choral song of angels Heard upon Judea's plain Sound throughout the earth the tidings Of that old and sweet refrain.

82 ONLY A WORD.

Till our world, so sad and weary, Finds the balmy rest of peace-- Peace to silence all her discords-- Peace till war and crime shall cease.

Peace to fall like gentle showers, Or on parched flowers dew, Till our hearts proclaim with gladness: Lo, He maketh all things new.

"FISHERS OF MEN."