The Holy War

Why rages the South, mid her bright, sunny rills, 
    Where the bondman, unheeding, is bent to the sod? 
Why scowls the stern North, on her rock-seated hill, 
    As the spirit of Freedom is moving abroad? 
A! vainly they trust, in their arrogant pride, 
They can turn back the Truth in her conquerless tide, 
While onward she rushes, majestic and free, 
Like the Amazon's wave, as it sweeps to the sea.   

Let them bind, if they will the swift clouds as they run— 
    The storm-bolt—the whirlwind—the tempest of hail— 
Tum back the red light to its home in the sun— 
    Stay the ruin that rides on the wing of the gale; 
But they never shall bind, with a tyrant’s command, 
The Spirit of Freedom gone forth in our land, 
Or fetter the Truth, as she moves through the world, 
With her hand to the sword, and her banner unfurled. 

The war cry of Liberty bursts on the ear: 
    Her legions are charging with fetterless speed; 
Yet not in the strength of the buckler and spear, 
    Or the prancing, in parade, of the iron-hoofed steed. 
The weapons of death are lung down to the sod, 
And the Truth in its pureness, made mighty by God 
To trample the minions of error in dust, 
Is their van-guard—their rear-ward—their strength, and their trust. 

And shall the oppressor, uprising in wrath, 
    Turn back that free spirit, fast hurrying forth, 
Like an angel from heaven on her merciful path, 
    To raise the poor bondman now crushed to the earth! 
O never! for lo, ‘tis the hand of the Lord, 
That guideth that Spirit unerring abroad. 
His arm that is stretched o'er the perishing slave, 
From the power of the cruel and haughty to save. 

The hireling may prophesy falsely for gold, 
    And the traitor turn back from the field of the fight;
The shepherd sleep on, with the wolf in the fold, 
    While the watchmen of Zion tell nought of the night,
And the “chivalric Southrons” rise up to their aid
With halter and faggot, with rifle and blade;
But vainly are lost of dominion and pride,
To check the strong impulse of Freedom allied. 

Her course is resistless, but triumph decreed;
    Though the priest and the Levite pass by and are dumb
On her errand of mercy to man she shall speed 
    Till the day of his perfect redemption hath come, 
While the blackness of darkness its banner shall wave,
And the “damned howl the requiem” o’er Tyranny’s grave
And the last galling chain, on that terrible day,
In the breath of God’s wrath shall be melted away.