Freedom's Apocalypse

                                   I.
The air is dark with sulphurous clouds, that roll
     Up from the red mouths of a thousand cannon, 
Whose deep-reverberated thunders knoll
     For hosts swept down in slaughter! Plume and pennon, 
Swords hacked and blood-stained, shattered gun and spear, 
Knapsack and pouch, and all the warrior's gear — 
The dying pillowed on the festering corse — 
In dire confusion mingled, man and horse, 
Heaps upon heaps, by the same death-shot slain, 
Strew with their wrecks, for leagues and leagues, the plain, 
Deaf to the voice of lover and of friend, 
Cold as the earth with which they soon shall blend; 
While obscene birds, impatient for their prey, 
Swoop upon eyes that still behold the day.
O War! thou fiend abhorred from deepest hell!
     Dread minister of vengeance and of wrath!
     Chastiser of the nations! in thy path 
Are hates and horrors, and all curses fell!
     Cities collapse in flame, and plenty flies
     Before the glare of thy demoniac eyes; 
Harvests are trampled, homes defiled with blood.
     Where once, at morning's dawn and evening's close,
     Songs of thank-giving, prayers of trust arose 
From loving hearts to the all-loving God!
     Earth trembles at thy treat!, and her broad plains,
     Swept of their verdure by thy hurricanes, 
And blasted by thy pestilential breath, 
Become a vast Gehenna, foul with death!

                                   II.
Yet when thou strik'st the tyrant and oppressor,
     And from his throne hurl'st down the sceptered lie, 
Startling with blare of trumpets the transgressor
     Of God's great charter of equality, — 
When peoples long despoiled awake at length 
To know their rights, and half perceive their strength, 
     And, struggling from oppression's long eclipse, 
Shiver their fetters, and with bitter scorn, 
Trampling the yoke their necks so long have worn,
     Exult in Freedom's dread Apocalypse, — 
Then, fiend no more, in thee our eyes behold 
The awful angel that redeemed of old,
     Strong-winged, responsive to a people's wail, 
     And cry, "O God! now let the right prevail."

                                   III.
What though the refluent tide of tyrant power
     Shall with its gory surges dash them down, 
And sweep them to quick death ? At least one hour 
Of Freedom hath been theirs, and if they die,
     They die as men! So winning the renown 
Of martyrs in thy cause, O Liberty!
     Their blood is vital; whether with hot flow 
Swelling their veins amidst the battle's shock,
     Or sprinkled in the red path of the foe, 
Or streaming from the headsman's gory block,
     No single drop is lost or shed in vain !
     Long years may pass, and earth forget the stain, 
Yet shall its silent power, from soul to soul 
Transmitted, work redemption for the whole!

                                   IV.
Be patient, O be patient! ye who wait,
     Worn with long toil, for Freedom's coming day; 
     Though years on years roll sullenly away, 
And no strong angel open flings the gate 
Of its red dawn, yet doubt not, soon or late,
     Old Earth shall bask in its effulgent ray,
     And her glad millions from tyrannic sway 
Walk forth in light redeemed, regenerate.
     Truth is immortal; and (though Fate defer 
Her hour of triumph, and prolong the stress
     Of evil fortune) they who war for her, 
And only they, are certain of success,
     For she is God's anointed minister. 
God strikes with those who strike for righteousness!

                                   V.
Strike then, ye heroes! though Oppression's night 
Gloom dark and cold above the weary fight, —
     The weary fight ye wage with banded wrongs, 
While through the gloom shines no prophetic ray, 
With cheering promise of the dawning day
     When Earth shall greet her jubilee with songs! 
Strike! with your dauntless hearts in every blow, 
Till Truth exults in Falsehood's overthrow!
     Strike! and the fire that leaps from clashing steel 
Shall light the ages to their destined goal,
     Freedom's august, and sacred common weal, 
Where Manhood stands erect and free in soul,
     And. trampling on the tyrant's broken rod,
     Kneels to no monarch save the sovereign God.

                                   VI.
Heroes and martyrs! waging not in vain
     A holy warfare, though from every sod 
Your blood steams upward, it shall fall in rain
     To nurse the tree whose planting is of God! 
Ye shall yet triumph! for Oppression's power, 
Last as it may, is only for an hour,
     While Freedom's life thrills through the vast To Be,
     And claims its heirship to eternity! 
Then, from the force and fraud and hate that sway 
The awful issues hidden in To-Day,
     To the great future send your bold appeal, 
With fire- winged words that cleave their way sublime 
Through the far spaces of the coming time,
     And trust the verdict it shall yet reveal.