Poems in War Time, vol 3, part 4

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Volume
III., The Works of Whittier: Anti-Slavery, Labor and Reform #23 in
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Title: Poems in Wartime
From Volume III., The Works of Whittier: Anti-Slavery Poems and
Songs of Labor and Reform
Author: John Greenleaf Whittier
Release Date: December 2005 [EBook #9578]
[Yes, we are more
than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on
October 15, 2003]
Edition: 10

Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
0. START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS
WARTIME ***
This eBook was produced by David Widger [[email protected]
]
ANTI-SLAVERY POEMS
SONGS OF LABOR AND REFORM
BY
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
CONTENTS:
IN WAR TIME.
TO SAMUEL E. SEWALL AND HARRIET W. SEWALL
THY
WILL BE DONE
A WORD FOR THE HOUR
"EIN FESTE
BURG IST UNSER GOTT"
TO JOHN C. FREMONT
THE
WATCHERS
TO ENGLISHMEN
MITHRIDATES AT CHIOS

AT PORT ROYAL
ASTRAEA AT THE CAPITOL
THE
BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862
OF ST. HELENA'S ISLAND, S. C.

THE PROCLAMATION
ANNIVERSARY POEM

BARBARA FRIETCHIE
HAT THE BIRDS SAID
THE
MANTLE OF ST. JOHN DE MATRA
LADS DEO!
HYMN
FOR THE CELEBRATION OF EMANCIPATION
AT NEWBURYPORT
IN WAR TIME.
TO SAMUEL E. SEWALL AND HARRIET W. SEWAll, OF
MELROSE.

These lines to my old friends stood as dedication in the volume which
contained a collection of pieces under the general title of In War Time.
The group belonging distinctly under that title I have retained here; the
other pieces in the volume are distributed among the appropriate
divisions.
OLOR ISCANUS queries: "Why should we
Vex at the land's
ridiculous miserie?"
So on his Usk banks, in the blood-red dawn
Of
England's civil strife, did careless Vaughan
Bemock his times. O
friends of many years!
Though faith and trust are stronger than our
fears,
And the signs promise peace with liberty,
Not thus we trifle
with our country's tears
And sweat of agony. The future's gain
Is
certain as God's truth; but, meanwhile, pain
Is bitter and tears are salt:
our voices take
A sober tone; our very household songs
Are heavy
with a nation's griefs and wrongs;
And innocent mirth is chastened
for the sake
Of the brave hearts that nevermore shall beat,
The eyes
that smile no more, the unreturning
feet!
1863
THY WILL BE DONE.
WE see not, know not; all our way
Is night,--with Thee alone is day

From out the torrent's troubled drift,
Above the storm our prayers
we lift,
Thy will be done!
The flesh may fail, the heart may faint,
But who are we to make
complaint,
Or dare to plead, in times like these,
The weakness of
our love of ease?
Thy will be done!
We take with solemn thankfulness
Our burden up, nor ask it less,

And count it joy that even we
May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee,

Whose will be done!
Though dim as yet in tint and line,
We trace Thy picture's wise design,

And thank Thee that our age supplies
Its dark relief of sacrifice.

Thy will be done!

And if, in our unworthiness,
Thy sacrificial wine we press;
If from
Thy ordeal's heated bars
Our feet are seamed with crimson scars,

Thy will be done!
If, for the age to come, this hour
Of trial hath vicarious power,
And,
blest by Thee, our present pain,
Be Liberty's eternal gain,
Thy will
be done!
Strike, Thou the Master, we Thy keys,
The anthem of the destinies!

The minor of Thy loftier strain,
Our hearts shall breathe the old
refrain,
Thy will be done!
1861.
A WORD FOR THE HOUR.
THE firmament breaks up. In black eclipse
Light after light goes out.
One evil star,
Luridly glaring through the smoke of war,
As in the
dream of the Apocalypse,
Drags others down. Let us not weakly
weep
Nor rashly threaten. Give us grace to keep
Our faith and
patience; wherefore should we leap
On one hand into fratricidal fight,

Or, on the other, yield eternal right,
Frame lies of law, and good
and ill confound?
What fear we? Safe on freedom's vantage-ground

Our feet are planted: let us there remain
In unrevengeful calm, no
means untried
Which truth can sanction, no just claim denied,
The
sad spectators of a suicide!
They break the links of Union: shall we
light
The fires of hell to weld anew the chain
On that red anvil
where each blow is pain?
Draw we not even now a freer breath,
As