Hour and The Man, The

There are times of bodeful peril, in the story of a Land, 
When the shadow of some awful doom reels, like the dial-hand 
Of Ahaz, back in darkness across its glory's path, 
No more a sign of promise, but Jehovah's frown of wrath.

As the earth's white blood sinks, curdling, from veined fount and well.
When the cramps of earthquake spasms her inward anguish tell,
So the full heart of a people, with a moment's fearful hush, 
Predicts the moral tempest and the passion's whirlwind rush

Wo worth the hope of nations, if in that awful hour
They read not well the judgment signs that darkly round them lower ;
And wo, if, when the storm is come upon the drifting realm,
A brave right-hand, like iron, hold not the shuddering helm!

No stripling's milky fingers, in tender nonage soft,
May nail the nation's banner where the tempest howls aloft ;
No graybeard's old and palsied hand, that shakes his life-sands faster.
May grasp the helm, and o'er the waves ride regnant, as their master!

But the nerves of fiery Manhood, in many a danger tried.
With the quick blood of young valor, to the calm of years allied, 
With the hero's eagle glances, and the sage's thoughtful face, 
Mark the Leader called by Providence to peril's lofty place.

We are drifting on the breakers, where the whitening water rolls,
And the beat of hearts prophetic as a solemn surf-bell tolls;
While the yeasty wrath of millions that warring passions urge,
Boils under, and breaks round us — a Maelstrom's fickle surge.

Thank God! the land is rousing, like a giant from its sleep; 
Heart leaps to heart responsive, "deep answering to deep;" 
The pulses of Humanity have swelled the civic veins, 
And a cry of " Freedom !" thunders from the mountains and the plains.

Thank God! that while the Hour is struck, we have the living MAN 
To bear our eagle banner against the spoiler's van, 
Strong hand to wield the wavering helm, warm heart, and coolest brain, 
Heroic Sage, wise Hero — a crownéd soul again!

Bold Nursling of the Mountains that rear the brave and free,
Our nation's periled fortunes are, under God, with thee;
Our earthly hope is in thee by a rescued People called. 
Strong in their true hearts round thee, in a living fortress walled.

Ah, wo! if through our blindness, or the hope of sin's reward, 
We see not in thy coming the finger of the Lord; 
Then darker, and yet darker, along our downward track,
Must gloom our night of ruin, till we strike the solid black!

But no! a nation's fiat is going forth to-day,
"Thus far, oh, human bondage, and here thy waves must stay; 
We have lifted up our banner, that, like a tongue of flame, 
Calls FREMONT to the victory, with FREEDOM in his name!"