Time and Change

When from the cold unconscious Past
     Which knew no flight of hours, nor light
     Nor being, save surrounding Night,
When God’s own word, along the vast
     ???’s void, was sent,
     And Night’s eternal veil[?] was rent;
Where rolled the sable foldings back,
Light leaped to life, and on their track
     Earth sun and stars exalting went
     Along the outspread firmament;
Then through unbounded space, sublime
     The morning stars together sang,
     As from the startled deep they sprang,
     And Heaven’s eternal arches rang,
     To blended tones[?] of harp and hymn, 
     As swelled the unnumbered Seraphim 
The birth-day song of infant Time.

Then came the sunny hours along,
     Change, and the restless flight of Years,— 
Time's joyous stream, unstained by Wrong—
     Unswelled by sorrow's falling tears;
And all the gorgeous splendors, given 
     To mark the day-dawn of a world, 
When from the crystal wall of heaven 
     Yon broad blue sky was first unfurled, 
And God, around Creation's throne,
Flung half the glories of his own.

But soon the rolling tide of Time
     Grew black with unrequited wrong;
Stained with the accumulated crime 
     Of ages, as it swept along;
Till now, all dyed with guiltless blood, 
It rolls, a dark and troubled flood, 
Within whose desolating wave, 
Hope, fading, finds a rayless grave, 
And Pleagure, from its dizzy steep, 
Sinks lost in the unfathomed deep:
And where the waters dash in pride 
The fleeting years an instant ride.—
The bubbles of its stormy tide,—
Lashed by its own eternal strife, 
From its dark bosom into life, 
To perish in the very blast
Which woke them on the shoreless vast;
And though, as one by one they rise, 
A moment's golden sunlight dyes 
     Their forms in rainbow-hues, to cheat 
The eye that seeks for brightness here.
     Their colors, than themselves more fleet,
     Fast fading, but an instant greet 
Its searching glance, and disappear.

And now, upon that restless tide,
     Another bubble breaks.
As downward borne in chainless pride
The waters to their ocean glide,
     Where no fair morning wakes.
Or sunlight gilds the stirless wave
That shrouds the beautiful and brave,—
     Earth's perished ones, with all that sleep 
Beneath the unmoving wing of Death, 
Where never curled one living brenth,—
     The heavy, black, unbottomed deep.

Hopes with the dying year have gone 
Which kindled with its kindling dawn;
And strong and manly hearts that beat 
     High with the joy which perisheth,
Have felt the freezing blood retreat 
     Before the icy touch of Death, 
Whose iron hand falls coldly on 
     The life-springs of the fair and young, 
     Joy's festive halls and scenes among, 
And chills the sluggish veins which run 
     Slow with the beat of palsied age, 
     When quenched is manhood's earlier rage, 
And scarcely, life's descending sun 
Can gild the cypress boughs, that wave 
Mournfully o'er the opening grave.

The light of beauty's eye hath fled, 
     Quenched in the burning tears of woe;
And faded is the blushing red, 
Which, blending with the lily, spread 
     O’er the fair cheek, a ruddy glow.
The opening bud of promise given, 
Fair as the primal bow of heaven, 
     Just blushing into life, hath lost 
Its brightness, in the samiel breath 
Which heaves the horrid breast of Death; 
     And drooping, in life's spring-tide frost, 
The father's hope, the mother's pride, I
In one brief hour hath sunk and died.

Ambition's torch,—lit up in hell
     At the dread altar of that king 
And god whose fiendish legions yell
The horrid triumph of each fell, 
     Malignant, and unholy thing—
Hath burned and dimmed, and burned again;
     And o'er the moral battle-field
     Its baleful glare hath been revealed,
Searing the hearts of brethren;—
While fell Dissension shook her brand
O'er Truth's unconquerable band,—
And cheered by all-unsparing hell, 
Pour'd o'er the host her hideous yell:
And Priestly Treachery with a smile 
     Hiding the lurking fiend, within,
Hath walked abroad unseen awhile, 
With coward heart, corrupt and vile.
     Steeped in the dregs of sin,—
Till dragged to light and disarrayed, 
He lifts the bared and dripping blade, 
In the broad van of open hate,
Yet bends before the gathering weight 
Of the resistless tide of scorn,
Full on his cuirassed bosom borne.
Foul Slavery in her dark domain, 
Whose howl of more than mortal pain 
Hath answered to the thunder burst, 
That deeply scarred her brow accursed, 
Hears gladly, in her awful cell
The mingled founds of discord yell, 
Hope stirs her as her failing bands 
     Grow stronger, at each jarring note;
And deeper still, her clenching hands,
     Sink on the unrescued victim's throat
O! may that day of plotted crime
Throughout the coming years of Time,— 
     That dark and sorrow-kindling morn, 
When Freedom's serried ranks, were torn 
     By traitor hands, forget to dawn.
Till the last bondman's chain is broke, 
And shivered, falls the cruel yoke;
And Slavery's dying breath is borne
     On the quick sir, that wafts the shout
Of Freedom, from a thousand hills 
     And deep, green vallies [sic], bursting out,
Till heaven’s blue arch sublimely thrills.
To the high anthem of the free,—
The song of new-born Liberty.

God in thy mercy speed the day,
     Turn back the storm that gathers o’er us,—
And chase the frowning gloom away,
     That thicken in the paths before us, 
And harness for the moral fight, 
The pledged defenders of the Right;
Reserve the failing hand of age,
     Fire the strong heart of manhood well,—
The ardent soul of youth engage.—
     And beauty with its magic spell:
O! strengthen women's purer heart, 
     And lead her willing soul, to know 
And bear its high and holy part, 
     In sin's eternal overthrow—
For fearful over earth, and strong 
Is waved the outstretched arm of wrong, 
And open crime and secret guile, 
Make the grim Fiend of Ruin smile.
Throned in the heart of starless night,
Dark as the van of coming storms,
Vice rears aloft her protean forms, 
     Beautiful to the ravished sight 
Of all her dazzled votaries,—
The herd that round her chariot swarms-
But hideous to the good man's eyes, 
As the sick maniac's phantasies.

There stand the smoking altars, where 
     In one red offering are burning
Earth's gems,—the lovely and the fair,
     Souls princely with the wealth of learning.
Fond youth and manhood in its pride;
     Those who, from Virtue's sunlight turning,
Resolved on moral suicide;
Sought pleasure where to hope, was sin, 
To follow, impious—death, to win!
And, as they quaff the ruin up 
Which sparkles in their bitter cup,
Fast from the troubled breast is driven
That inward light shed down from heaven, 
Hope, the last ray, that from God's throne 
     Is mirrored on the living soul;
While pale Despair, whose arm alone 
     Sways the stern sceptre of control,
Has coiled his fetter links around 
The heart in error's chains self-bound:
And while her thousand votaries go 
Down to the burning depths below, 
Her thousands more, unsparing Vice
Leads on a willing sacrifice,
     Not the poor shrivelled wretch in rags
[Five lines more or less obscured]
But bound in her triumphal car
     Behold the lordly one’s of earth,
Whose glory streaming from afar,
Shone like the radiant morning star,
     A moment at their rushing forth,
Then vanish’d, from their fiery trace,
     As fades the meteor light,
While Darkness, deep, and doubly black
The curtains of his hall rolled back
     Upon the dazzled sight.

The warrior from the field of blood,
     Crowned with the wreath of earthly glory,
Won by his arm, where swept the flood
Of wasteful battle, deep and gory,—
Trails his green laurels in the dust,
Dishonored with the stain of lust;
And bending there, his dreadful name 
Is shorn of half its robber-fame.
The mighty, who with giant mind 
     Proudly on all below might trample, 
And soaring upward unconfined,
Leaving the wondering world behind,—
As gaze the storm-birds on the sun, 
Fix his unshrinking eye upon
     The blazing front of Glory's temple,
Uptowering, till the very throne 
Of sceptred Fame should be his own;
O! basely in the squalid train 
Of Vice, he drags the burning chain;
His beggared soul a willing slave, 
Borne on pollution's turbid wave.

Too oft the honored and the great, 
     The spirits of nobler birth
     Than seem the groveling sons of earth, 
Plunge downward from their high estate, 
And waste their godlike genius, in 
The labyrinthian paths of sin.
As the bold eagle, free and proud,
Borne upward through the hovering cloud,
     Ploughing the azure floods on high,
Till far below the tempests frown, 
     And hoarsely back the storms reply 
     In thunder to his startling cry.
In foul dishonor stricken down,
[possible missing line]
     Swift thro the liquid ether whirls, 
And on the low and vulgar earth,
     Dies where the venom'd serpent curls, 
And loathsome reptiles have their birth.—
So fall the aspiring souls, who falter 
     To list the syren song of Vice, 
So basely, on her burning altar, 
     The immolated victim dies,
As from her foul and reeking dens, 
That blacken all our peopled glens—
Where cavern-celled Corruption holds
     Her undisputed sway,—
She drags her vile, and snaky folds 
     Up to the light of day,
Leaving her foul unseemly traces.
On all our high and holy places.
But darker yet the flood of Crime
Sweeps with the onward tide of Time:
Oppression, on his iron throne,
     Wrapped round with pestilential gloom, 
Claims the broad earth as all his own;
And the awed nations weep and groan, 
     Beneath the heavy hand of doom;
While his black ensign, wide unfurled, 
Sheds midnight o'er a bleeding world.

On, sweep the ministers of ill, 
The sterner servants of his will,—
With dripping scourge and gleaming steel, 
And fetters forged for soul and heel,--
Fierce minions of a fiercer king,--
Their charter on their fronts they bring, 
Written on gnarled and jutting brows, 
When all the heart's dark passions rouse, 
     Beyond the power of utterance, showing 
The language of the soul's deep hate, 
     In every burning feature glowing
Like Babylonia's words of fate:
The kindled eye malignant flashes 
Out from its long and jetty lashes, 
Like some mad demon in his cell, 
Glimpsing between the bars of Hell.

Down trodden to the trodden turf, 
Hath bowed the European serf, 
And trembling, kissed the very sod, 
Beneath their spirit-crushing rod:
And long hath bleeding Afric felt
    Their fearful strength, through all her borders, 
And low her vanquished sons have knelt, 
     In fetters to the armed marauders;
And when one ray of Freedom's morning
     ‘Gan pierce the darkness gathered round, 
In token of a brighter dawning
     To struggle through the gloom profound,--
And the unwieldly scourge of law
Half held the fiendlike hordes in awe, 
     That spoiled her peopled strand;
Columbia, who had proudly spurned 
     The tyrant's chain and diadem, 
From Freedom's upward soaring, turned, 
     Stretched out her arms, and gave to them 
Whom even a despot might condemn,
     A welcome to her land.
And now where bend the southern hills 
     Their bright green bosoms to the sun, 
That drinks from all the laughing tills 
     Which downward to the deep sea run,--
Is stretched Oppression's iron reign, 
     In all the terror of his throne—
The torturing whip, the clanking chain, 
     The stifled curse, Despair's low moan,—
     The spirit's deep, unuttered groan, 
With all that can make earth a hell, 
Life wretched, or man terrible;
And sternly the oppressor waves
The sceptre o'er his sullen slaves.

Yet tremble, tyrants!—for the arm 
     Of Justice shall not always sleep,
Turn!--ere the trumpet of alarm
     Shall bid the sword of vengeance leap 
From its red sheath, to recompense 
On you, your deeds of violence.
Ye cannot know what hopes may swell 
     The bondman's bosom, even now,—
What deeply-brooding thoughts may dwell 
     Under that dark, unchanging brow,—
Gathering, unnoted, drop by drop, 
The storm of burning vengeance up, 
To burst above your ruffian horde,
     While fear, your coward cheeks shall blanch,—
As one by one the rain-drops, poured, 
     Unchain the giant avalanche.

O, should some tameless JINGUA there, 
     With heart of fire and hand of iron, 
Upbursting from his midnight lair,
     More dreadful than the startled lion--
Rearing the insurgent flag on high, 
For Freedom, sound the rallying cry,— 
While fiercely, o'er their watery track,
The freed Antilles answer back,
And, from the dark Canadian woods, 
     In stern reply comes thundering out,
Above Niagara's boiling floods,
     The rescued bondman's battle shout:
How terrible, on all below,
     Would pour the gathered storm of wrath, 
Blending, in one wild overthrow, 
The high, the mighty and the low, 
Maiden and matron, friend and foe,
     Swept down before their burning path.

The millions of the groaning East, 
     Crouching beneath the fetters strong 
On limb and spirit bound, by priest, 
     And sceptred monarch, through the long, 
     Dark midnight of unpitying wrong,—
Pour ceaseless, on the ear of heaven, 
     The unchanging story of their woe, 
From dew-wet morn till weeping even, 
     From eve till morning's kindled glow:
And o'er the never-slumbering seas, 
In concert with the sounding wave, 
A wail comes on the laboring breeze, 
     To the lone prison of the slave;
And blending with the murmurs there
     Which, from the trampled down and wronged, 
For vengeance, lift an earnest prayer—
     Upward to heaven goes, many-tongued;
Calling the living lightnings down, 
That kindle in Jehovah’s frown, 
To blast the spoiler of the poor, 
And smite, in wrath, the evil doer.

Not with the iron bonds alone,
Whose galling links are bathed in blood, 
Oppression, from the spirit's throne,
     Drags down the heritage of God:
But lily hands have bound the chain 
     Of servile bondage on the soul;
And priestly lips have dared maintain, 
In solemn mockery, his reign 
     And robber-charter of control.
Free thought—the soul of manly deeds—
     And the free word which speaks that thought,
Perish before the Baal creeds 
     By titled hirelings wrought;-
Hirelings who steal the Reverend name 
     Of God, to sanctify their own, 
And seek to hide their damning shame 
     Beneath the shadow of his throne.
These, unto whom ye deem 'tis given
To guard the ??? ??? of Heaven
     From ??? ??? ???
Or lead the ??? ??? ???
Drawn by the ties of heavenly love
To taste the holy joys that flow
     Pure, from Salvation’s stricken Rock,
For all the weary sons of woe
     Who round that living fount shall flock,—
Forgetful of their generous toil, 
And thirsting for the sweets of spoil, 
Lend on Oppression's frowning van,—
     The despots of the moral world,—
Trampling the godlike soul of man 
Down in the dust, with bigot heel, 
And cursing him who scorns to kneel 
All suppliant to their creeds, and drag 
His chains, beneath the pirate-flag 
     Of priestly power unfurled.
When all the slumbering land is waking
     Before the trumpet-voice of Right, 
And fearless souls, their fetters breaking, 
The fire from God's own altar taking.
     Truth's dim and dying torch relight,—
Full on the servants of the Lord, 
     Who humbly work their Master's will,
Pours down the fell banditti horde
     That prowls for prey on Zion's hill.

While stern Oppression, over earth, 
Guides the demoniac legions forth,
     That darken in his train, 
WAR lifts in air his reeking brand, 
And shakes it with a blood-red hand 
     Along the gloomy plain;
And, from his deep and iron throat, 
     Pours dreadful, with his fiery breath,
     Red flame, and smoke, and hurtling death;
And mingle with his bugle-note
The shriek and shot and thunder-burst,
Fierce as the howl of the accursed 
That hover o'er the strife, and breathe 
Their triumph on the dun cloud-wreath.

O! fearful is the infernal god,
     Alike in voice, in deed, and form:— 
With what an earthquake step he trod 
     On human hearts with life-blood warm, 
O'er Europe's hundred fields of blood, 
     When, darker than the vollied storm, 
     Rolled on the host to battle's shock, 
And wave on wave the bursting flood,—
     Like ocean's billows, when they lock 
     In their strong arms the opposing rock,—
Poured o'er the ridge of foeman's steel, 
Till back their broken ranks 'gan reel 
     Before its crimson tide;
And, whelmed in its destroying course, 
Banner and corset, man and horse 
     Lay stretched in ruin wide.

How dark his ensign was unfurled
     On Borodino's battle morn,
That crowning carnage of the world,
     Wild as the strife, when mountains torn, 
     And in the middle air upborne,
On heaven's encountering hosts were hurled;
What time the rebel angels fell
Whom God's red thunders smote to hell.
Ranks upon ranks were fiercely driven
     Before the whirlwind of the fight;
The slaughtered hosts were piled to heaven, 
     Earth reeled, and day grew sick, and night 
     In darkness swallowed up the light;
Wildly beneath the battle shroud
     The serried ranks were torn asunder;
And rose the sounds of tumult loud, 
Above the darkening sulphur-cloud, 
The rattling storm of grape shot, falling,—
Squadron to squadron fiercely calling 
     And thunder answering to thunder.

Not thus the harmless volleys boom
Above Floridia's forest gloom,
Where War's marauding minions roll
     In mock of pomp, with chain and hound,
Upon the tameless Seminole, 
The conquerless and proud of soul, 
     To chase him from his hunting ground;
But Treachery, the lowliest slave 
     That crouches at the heel of War, 
Leads on the powers, which dare not brave 
     The armed and chainless warrior.
Even pirate-honor leaves the throne
     Where vizored hate and foul intrigue
And cowardice would gain alone
     Their triumph in a triple league.

Hem'd in by foes on every side
     The wasted warriors of the wood
Have balled long a nation's pride,
    And well her robber-strength withstood
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??? ??? before the Christian’s gun
Or torn, their ancient lands upon,
     By Christian BLOOD-HOUNDS, on their track.

For to the Indian's ear there comes
     A voice from Oceola's grave,
     Calling the warriors, stern and brave, 
To strike for their dishonored homes ;
And, backward rendering blow for blow,
Reap down the harvest of the foe, 
     The pale and traitor brood,—
Who robbed the eagle on her nest, 
The lion in his place of rest, 
     The Indian in his wood :
And lightly he may not forget
     The summons of his buried father;
Around their chieftain darker yet
     That brother-band may sternly gather, 
And as the eagle, from his rock 
Descends, on the unguarded flock,
     Down on your borders stoop,
While, o'er your burning homes ascending, 
The insurgent's yell, rings, madly blending 
     With his wild battle whoop!
Across the eastern wave, afar,
More gloomy bends the brow of War;
And darkly, o'er the shrinking sky, 
     The stormy clouds of battle loom, 
Where red Ambition holds on high 
The unequal balance, which must try 
     And sway a boundless empire's doom.
There proud Britannia's lion roars
Along imperial China's shores,
     To strike her pagan hosts with awe;
And, plougling through the watery plain, 
Shakes grim defiance from his mane, 
     And, fearless, tramples on the law;
Basing the last, and stern appeal, 
On cannon's throat and bristling steel, 
     The Christian's enginery of war.

Sons of the ocean-guarded isle, 
Ye servants of the Prince, who came 
To light Love's holy altar-flame 
     In every human heart,
How will the heathen tribes revile!
How bitterly the scorner smile!
And, on your nation's tarnished fame,
Strike deep the burning brand of shame
??? ??? trace shall not depart!
Ha!—will ye ask the Pagan now
     To dash his idols to the dust
In humble suppliance to bow.
     Before the God in whom ye trust?
And will he turn him from his own
     Confucius to your Nazarene;
Forget his guardian Chin Hoan,
And seek protection at the throne
     Of Him he hath not seen?
Will he despise the altars, where
     He blessed his joyous Ninnifu?
Or bend the adoring knee in prayer 
To Him ye serve, while redly there 
The cannon's flash flings up its glare, 
And, darkly hovering in mid-air, 
     Hangs the suspended blow?
No!—rather shall your servants, sent 
     To tell him of a Saviour's love, 
     And point his wandering soul above,
Pour out their blood, a sacrament 
To appease the scaly dragons, led 
To worship from their slimy bed.
No!—the poor Pagan now shall spurn
     The once bright star of Bethlehem;
And from its healing radiance turn,
     Since ye have stained the only gem 
     Upon a lost world's diadem.

O turn! and in the strength of Him 
Whose glory ye have dared to dim, 
Pluck from the horrid shrine of War 
     The human victims offered there;
And, from the monster's iron jaw, 
The torn and bleeding prey withdraw,
     Who, frantic with despair,
Rush madly to the storm of death, 
Which pours with his destroying breath, 
     And lightens in his glare.
Rescue the phrensied ranks that kneel 
Before his crushing chariot-wheel;
And the green laurel's blood-stained bough,
Wreathed darkly round his awful brow,
     From his grim forehead tear:
For long have robbery and blood
     The wave of Time polluted, 
And, in the holy name of God, 
     The soul of man imbruted.

Now, darkening, like the gathering cloud, 
     Borne on the wing of tempests strong, 
Down, on the flood of ages, crowd
     The nameless myrmidons of Wrong
[TWO OBSCURED LINES]
Burned on the wreathing smoke of hell,
     With fiery wings and blazing breath, 
Intemperance, from her awful cell, 
Comes stern and dark and terrible,
     Pouring the ??? storm of death,
          And revelling o'er the stain[?];
While Crime and Wo and pale Despair, 
And Madness with his demon glare;
          Come darkening in her train.
Red-handed Murder stalks abroad,
     The chosen guardian of the law, 
Holding, with blade, and triple cord,
     Her weaker ministers in awe;
Foul Falsebood flings his venomed dart
     With hidden barb, to strike 
The noble and the pure of heart, 
     The good and angel-like;
Unblushing Robbery walks at noon
     And bares his impious crest,
Scorning the pale and fickle moon, 
Whose borrowed lamp, on Nature turning 
The dim light of its fainter burning, 
     The outlawed robber loves the best;
And over prostrate bosoms, ride
Cold-hearted Wealth and damning Pride.

Justice and Mercy, Truth and Love, 
Returning, like the weary dove,
Have sought their sinless home above,
          Or with the scorned and poor,
Move viewless, through the unheeding world, 
Which in the surge of passion whirled, 
Hears not the voice that soft and clear, 
Breathes gently in the good man's ear, 
Or, in his wild and mad career, 
     Warns the proud evil-doer

     Crime, templed in a thousand forms,
Darkens the strong and ebbless flow 
     Of ages, as they downward go;
While passion like a whiriwind urges 
The crested and tumultuous surges,
          As the winged hurricane deforms
          The billowed ocean swathed in storms.

Scarce from the darkness comes one ray, 
In token of the rising day
     Whose kindled beams shall light
The pilgrim, on his weary way, 
To the far Spirit-Land, where they 
Who walk in mourning here below, 
From their ascending flight, shall throw 
The sable mantle of their wo,
          And, robed in stainless white,
Ride on the perfumed clouds, which o'er 
Heaven's pearly gates and chrystal floor,
          Hang shadowless and bright.

O! shall that glad and holy morn 
Over Earth's darkness never dawn;
When, rescued from the arm of Sin, 
The world and all who dwell therein 
Shall be the heritage of Him 
          Whose empire is Infinity;
Before whose throne yon sun were dim
To the bright ranks of seraphim
          Who bend the adoring knee?
Shall one eternal stain of crime
Make dark the restless wave of Time?
And never, on its stormy breast,
Man's shattered bark in brightness rest,—
While the clear waters, still and free, 
Glide on serenely to the sea,—
Waveless and dread eternity?

O Thou! who rent the veil, before 
     The vision of thine olden sages;
And gave thy prophets light, to pore 
     Upon the doom of coming ages:
Roll back the midnight pall once more, 
From the dim Future's starless shore, 
And lend a mortal eye one glance 
     Into the hidden things to come;
One glimpse to pierce the dark expanse
     Where smiles our joy, or frowns our doom.

Ah see! roll not its foldings back?
     The veil is torn, and far along,
I view the calm and stormless track
     Where sweeps the lessening tide of wrong;
Till the polluted wave of Time
Pours, darkened by no stain of crime;
Pure as the visioned, crystal sea,
Whose mirroring waters, deep and free,
Winnowed by seraph-wings alone,
Curl bright before the Eternal's throne, 
And picture, in their depths below, 
The ethereal lightnings vivid glow.
The spirits of the martyred Just, 
     Baptized on earth with fire and blood, 
Who spurned their hated chains of dust, 
     And winged their homeward fight to God—
Hang forward, from each golden cloud
     Which wreathes the brow of upper Heaven;
While, on celestial harps aloud,
     New praises to our God are given.
Thronged with the joys of heavenly birth, 
     Fair Virtue, Peace, and holy Rest 
Sweep in bright philanx[sic] over earth,
     To the soft music of the Blest.

I see their spotless choir advance,
'Their pathway lit by God's own glance,— 
And streaming bright, their ranks above, 
The snow-white banner-folds of Love;
While, swelling on the wing-beat air,
     Another song ascendeth
To heaven's cloud-shadowed throne, and there
     With seraph-anthems blendeth.
Earth kindles into joy along
     Their stayless course, and lightly springs,—
Fanned into life by angel-wings,—
The fainting Hope, that crushed by Wrong,
Had yielded to his fetters strong;
And, from its verdureless repose, 
The desert waste of human woes,
Burning and black and dreadful, where
Swept the sirocco of Despair, 
Springs into life and gladness, fair 
     And blooming as the rose.

Stern Violence and Wrong no more
Shall haunt and vex the weary world
Just wakened into light, before 
The banner of the Cross unfurled;
For, o'er the flying gloom, is dawning, 
Perfect and full, the joyful morning, 
By holy men and seers of old, 
In mystic visions, long foretold,
When Earth her gladness shall renew, 
     And Love unite the lamb and lion, 
And Peace descend, like Hermon's dew,
     On all the holy mountain Zion;—
The Sabbath of the world hath come, 
The long-desired Millennium.