Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/383



Bearer of Freedom’s holy light,
 * Breaker of Slavery’s chain and rod,

The foe of all which pains the sight,
 * Or wounds the generous ear of God!

Beautiful yet thy temples rise,
 * Though there profaning gifts are thrown;

And fires unkindled of the skies
 * Are glaring round thy altar-stone.

Still sacred, though thy name be breathed
 * By those whose hearts thy truth deride;

And garlands, plucked from thee, are wreathed
 * Around the haughty brows of Pride.

Oh, ideal of my boyhood’s time!
 * The faith in which my father stood,

Even when the sons of Lust and Crime
 * Had stained thy peaceful courts with blood!

Still to those courts my footsteps turn,
 * For through the mists which darken there,

I see the flame of Freedom burn,—
 * The Kebla of the patriot’s prayer!

The generous feeling, pure and warm,
 * Which owns the right of all divine;

The pitying heart, the helping arm,
 * The prompt self-sacrifice, are thine.

Beneath thy broad, impartial eye,
 * How fade the lines of caste and birth!

How equal in their suffering lie
 * The groaning multitudes of earth!

Still to a stricken brother true,
 * Whatever clime hath nurtured him;

As stooped to heal the wounded Jew
 * The worshipper of Gerizim.

By misery unrepelled, unawed
 * By pomp or power, thou seest a Man

In prince or peasant, slave or lord,
 * Pale priest, or swarthy artisan.