A Word to the South

Let the storm come! Oh, impotent and vain
The mad attempt to overwhelm the Truth,
To quench its blaze, or drown its thunder-tones
In the wild tumult of the popular rage!
Hark! from the North to the extremest South
Rolls a continuous voice—“Repent! repent!”
And on the conscious winds is borne afar
The impious response—“The lash! the stake!
Death to the advocate of Human Rights!”
The lash! why shrunk not Dresser when the scourge 
Reeked in his blood! The voice of thanks arose
To God who had endued him with the power
To suffer uncomplainingly. Go to!
Tortures and stripes were made for servile souls—
The free, bold hearts who trust in Israel’s God,
Cannot be oved thus lightly. Strong in HIM
Whose wrath against Oppression hotly burns,
They shrink not from the peril nor the shame
Which they must meet who wake the tyrant’s wrath,
And dare to trample on unholy POWER!

     Let the storm come! A cry for blood hath gone
Out on the winds of heaven! The chivalrous South
Calls on the North to render up her sons—
To sacrifice her worthiest, and appease
The holy wrath of those who rob their God;
And the pale North hath bowed, and kissed the foot
Of her imperious master!

                                       “Ho!—the chain!
Fetter the press! put out the light of truth!
Hang the disseverers of our sacred bond!”
Go, mocker! chain the unfettered winds, which sweep
Over your fervid plains, freighted with groans
From the down-trodden—make them do your will,
Blow when you list, and when you bid, forbear!
Fetter the swelling ocean, that its waves
Shall slumber, hushed and tranquil; with a nod
Turn the sun backward from his path of light;
Quench the rejoicing stars, and blot the moon
From the fair page of heaven; then turn and throw 
Your manacles on mind—and fetter speech,
And thought, and action; and with dreadless hand
Hurl the Eternal from his throne, and seize 
The sceptre of the Universe! and then,
When God is God no longer, we will fear,
And, cringing, do your bidding. Not till then!

     Let the storm come! It beat with fiercer rage
When cried the multitude, with maniac shout,
“LET HIM BE CRUCIFIED!” Ye war with God!
Impious and unbelieving! HE hath bared
His right arm for the battle, and hath thrown
His buckler over us—and ever wound,
And every outrage which we suffer now,
In the hot conflict for the RIGHT, shall be
A token and a pledge of victory!