Poems in War Time, vol 3, part 4 | Page 8

and her sail!
"Behind us are the Moormen;
At sea we sink or strand
There's
death upon the water,
There's death upon the land!"
Then up spake John de Matha
"God's errands never fail!
Take thou
the mantle which I wear,
And make of it a sail."
They raised the cross-wrought mantle,
The blue, the white, the red;

And straight before the wind off-shore
The ship of Freedom sped.
"God help us!" cried the seamen,
"For vain is mortal skill
The good
ship on a stormy sea
Is drifting at its will."
Then up spake John de Matha
"My mariners, never fear
The Lord
whose breath has filled her sail
May well our vessel steer!"
So on through storm and darkness
They drove for weary hours;

And lo! the third gray morning shone
On Ostia's friendly towers.
And on the walls the watchers
The ship of mercy knew,
They knew
far off its holy cross,
The red, the white, and blue.
And the bells in all the steeples
Rang out in glad accord,
To
welcome home to Christian soil
The ransomed of the Lord.
So runs the ancient legend
By bard and painter told;
And lo! the
cycle rounds again,
The new is as the old!
With rudder foully broken,
And sails by traitors torn,
Our country

on a midnight sea
Is waiting for the morn.
Before her, nameless terror;
Behind, the pirate foe;
The clouds are
black above her,
The sea is white below.
The hope of all who suffer,
The dread of all who wrong,
She drifts
in darkness and in storm,
How long, O Lord I how long?
But courage, O my mariners
Ye shall not suffer wreck,
While up to
God the freedman's prayers
Are rising from your deck.
Is not your sail the banner
Which God hath blest anew,
The mantle
that De Matha wore,
The red, the white, the blue?
Its hues are all of heaven,
The red of sunset's dye,
The whiteness of
the moon-lit cloud,
The blue of morning's sky.
Wait cheerily, then, O mariners,
For daylight and for land;
The
breath of God is in your sail,
Your rudder is His hand.
Sail on, sail on, deep-freighted
With blessings and with hopes;
The
saints of old with shadowy hands
Are pulling at your ropes.
Behind ye holy martyrs
Uplift the palm and crown;
Before ye
unborn ages send
Their benedictions down.
Take heart from John de Matha!--
God's errands never fail!
Sweep
on through storm and darkness,
The thunder and the hail!
Sail on! The morning cometh,
The port ye yet shall win;
And all the
bells of God shall ring
The good ship bravely in!
1865.
LAUS DEO!
On hearing the bells ring on the passage of the constitutional
amendment abolishing slavery. The resolution was adopted by

Congress, January 31, 1865. The ratification by the requisite number of
states was announced December 18, 1865.
IT is done!
Clang of bell and roar of gun
Send the tidings up and
down.
How the belfries rock and reel!
How the great guns, peal on
peal,
Fling the joy from town to town!
Ring, O bells!
Every stroke exulting tells
Of the burial hour of
crime.
Loud and long, that all may hear,
Ring for every listening
ear
Of Eternity and Time!
Let us kneel
God's own voice is in that peal,
And this spot is holy
ground.
Lord, forgive us! What are we,
That our eyes this glory see,

That our ears have heard the sound!
For the Lord
On the whirlwind is abroad;
In the earthquake He has
spoken;
He has smitten with His thunder
The iron walls asunder,

And the gates of brass are broken.
Loud and long
Lift the old exulting song;
Sing with Miriam by the
sea,
He has cast the mighty down;
Horse and rider sink and drown;

"He hath triumphed gloriously!"
Did we dare,
In our agony of prayer,
Ask for more than He has
done?
When was ever His right hand
Over any time or land

Stretched as now beneath the sun?
How they pale,
Ancient myth and song and tale,
In this wonder of
our days,
When the cruel rod of war
Blossoms white with righteous
law,
And the wrath of man is praise!
Blotted out
All within and all about
Shall a fresher life begin;

Freer breathe the universe
As it rolls its heavy curse
On the dead
and buried sin!

It is done!
In the circuit of the sun
Shall the sound thereof go forth.

It shall bid the sad rejoice,
It shall give the dumb a voice,
It shall
belt with joy the earth!
Ring and swing,
Bells of joy! On morning's wing
Send the song of
praise abroad!
With a sound of broken chains
Tell the nations that
He reigns,
Who alone is Lord and God!
1865.
HYMN
FOR THE CELEBRATION OF EMANCIPATION AT
NEWBURYPORT.
NOT unto us who did but seek
The word that burned within to speak,

Not unto us this day belong
The triumph and exultant song.
Upon us fell in early youth
The burden of unwelcome truth,
And
left us, weak and frail and few,
The censor's painful work to do.
Thenceforth our life a fight became,
The air we breathed was hot with
blame;
For not with gauged and softened tone
We made the
bondman's cause our own.
We bore, as Freedom's hope forlorn,
The private hate, the public
scorn;
Yet held through all the paths we trod
Our faith in man and
trust in God.
We prayed and hoped; but still, with