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John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). The Poetical Works in Four Volumes. 1892.

Anti-Slavery Poems

Pæan

  • This poem indicates the exultation of the anti-slavery party in view of the revolt of the friends of Martin Van Buren in New York, from the Democratic Presidential nomination in 1848.


  • NOW, joy and thanks forevermore!

    The dreary night has wellnigh passed,

    The slumbers of the North are o’er,

    The Giant stands erect at last!

    More than we hoped in that dark time

    When, faint with watching, few and worn,

    We saw no welcome day-star climb

    The cold gray pathway of the morn!

    O weary hours! O night of years!

    What storms our darkling pathway swept,

    Where, beating back our thronging fears,

    By Faith alone our march we kept.

    How jeered the scoffing crowd behind,

    How mocked before the tyrant train,

    As, one by one, the true and kind

    Fell fainting in our path of pain!

    They died, their brave hearts breaking slow,

    But, self-forgetful to the last,

    In words of cheer and bugle blow

    Their breath upon the darkness passed.

    A mighty host, on either hand,

    Stood waiting for the dawn of day

    To crush like reeds our feeble band;

    The morn has come, and where are they?

    Troop after troop their line forsakes;

    With peace-white banners waving free,

    And from our own the glad shout breaks,

    Of Freedom and Fraternity!

    Like mist before the growing light,

    The hostile cohorts melt away;

    Our frowning foemen of the night

    Are brothers at the dawn of day!

    As unto these repentant ones

    We open wide our toil-worn ranks,

    Along our line a murmur runs

    Of song, and praise, and grateful thanks.

    Sound for the onset! Blast on blast!

    Till Slavery’s minions cower and quail;

    One charge of fire shall drive them fast

    Like chaff before our Northern gale!

    O prisoners in your house of pain,

    Dumb, toiling millions, bound and sold,

    Look! stretched o’er Southern vale and plain,

    The Lord’s delivering hand behold!

    Above the tyrant’s pride of power,

    His iron gates and guarded wall,

    The bolts which shattered Shinar’s tower

    Hang, smoking, for a fiercer fall.

    Awake! awake! my Fatherland!

    It is thy Northern light that shines;

    This stirring march of Freedom’s band

    The storm-song of thy mountain pines.

    Wake, dwellers where the day expires!

    And hear, in winds that sweep your lakes

    And fan your prairies’ roaring fires,

    The signal-call that Freedom makes!

    1848.