Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/164

 148 WILLIAM D, GALLAGHER. [1830-40. Thus the fettered limbs have rested — Thus hath slept the darkened mind. But it wakens now ! — it flashes Like the lightning ere the rain ; And those limbs grow strong! — when ready, They can rend the mightiest chain. Through the slow and stately marches Of the centuries sublime, Radicalos hath been strengthening For the noblest work of Time, And he comes upon the Present Like a god in look and mien, With composure high surveying All the tumult of the scene : Where obey the fettered millions ; Where command the fettering few ; Where the chain of wrong is forging. With its red links hid from view ; And he standeth by the peasant, And ]ie standeth by the lord. And he shouts " Your rights are equal ! " Till earth startles at the word. He hath seen the record written, From the primal morn of man, In the blood of battling nations O'er ensanguined plains that ran ; In the tears of the deluded, In the sweat of the oppress' d. From Ind's farthest peopled borders To the new worlds of the West. And he cometh with deliverance ! And his might shall soon be known, Where the wrong'd rise up for justice. And the wrongers lie o'erthrown. Wo ! the pride that then shall scorn him : He will bring it fitly low ! Wo ! the arm that shall oppose him : He will cleave it at a blow ! Wo ! the hosts that shall beset him : He will scatter them abroad ! He will strike them down forever ! Radicalos is of God. THE BETTER DAY. Workers high, and workers low, Weary workers every where, For the New Age rounding to Like a planet, now prepare! Delver in the deep dark mine. Where no rays of sunlight shine ; Toiler in unwholesome rooms. Foul and damp with lingering glooms- Worker by the hot highway. In the blinding blaze of day — Come it cold, or come it hot. Be of spirit : falter not ; Toil is duty, growth, and gain ; Never wasted — never vain ! Patient, pent-up man-machine, At the loom and shuttle seen, Weaving in with nicest art Throbbings of thy own poor heart. Till the subtile textures seem With thy very life to gleam — Hard the toil, but work away : Yet shall dawn the Better Day ! Stitcher, by the cradle's side. Where thy fondest hopes abide. Working with a heart of might All the day and half the night. Often till the east grows red With the dawning, for thy bread ; Though thou art of feeble limb, And thine eyes are pained and dim, Sending off, with every piece Wliich thy weary hands release. Portions of thy life wrought in With the garment, white and thin — Work and wait ; the end is sure ; Time his offspring will mature : Work with will, and work away, Doubting not the Better Day ! Workers high, and workers low, Weary workers every where, For the New Age roiuiding to Like a planet, now prepai'e !