In the war against Oppression,
In the battle on the wrong,
When the armies of the Alien
Seem unconquerably strong,
And the Elect a moment waver
Chilled by waning fortune's frost,
Mark the word!
Victory is but deferred,
Never lost.
Freedom's champions are immortal
As the living God they serve,
Not a blood-drop falls to perish,
Not an uttered truth shall swerve
From its renovating mission,
In her fire-tongued Pentecost,
To her word
Victory may be deferred,
But not lost.
All the Martyrs of old Ages
Have bequeathed that faith to this,
Lifting, through the flames, their beakers
Of imperishable bliss!
Rome, and Smithfield, and Geneva,
Smoking with hell's holocaust,
Shriek the word,
That our hopes, though, long deferred,
Are not lost.
All the legions of the Persian
In that memorable Pass,
Piled to swell the mausoleum
Of sublime Leonidas,
Made THERMOPYLAE a watchword,
Down through all the ages toss'd —
Freedom's word,
Teaching that her reign, deferred,
Is not lost.
The grim courage of our Fathers,
Fighting backwards down the hill,
While their burning homes at Charlestown
Only fired their dauntless will,
Speaks from all their lowly tombstones
Worn by time, and over-moss'd,
The same word,
That a victory long deferred,
Is not lost.
Freedom's martyr-souls in Kansas,
Well who fought alone their fight,
Till the Land's inaugurate Traitor
With her wronged Arm crushed their might,
For their burning homes in Lawrence,
Yet shall teach, at Slavery's cost,
The old word,
That their hour is but deferred,
And not lost !
They may perish in their bondage;
But a lightning flash would leap —
From their blood-smoke rolling upward —
Through Oppression's cavernous deep,
And explode its fatal fire-damp,
Thundering o'er your ruined boast,
This wild word:
In their victory not deferred
Ye are lost!
Deferred, Not Lost