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Home  »  The Poetical Works In Four Volumes  »  To the Memory of Charles B. Storrs


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

Personal Poems

To the Memory of Charles B. Storrs

  • Late President of Western Reserve College, who died at his post of duty, overworn by his strenuous labors with tongue and pen in the cause of Human Freedom.


    • THOU hast fallen in thine armor,

    Thou martyr of the Lord!

    With thy last breath crying “Onward!”

    And thy hand upon the sword.

    The haughty heart derideth,

    And the sinful lip reviles,

    But the blessing of the perishing

    Around thy pillow smiles!

    When to our cup of trembling

    The added drop is given,

    And the long-suspended thunder

    Falls terribly from Heaven,—

    When a new and fearful freedom

    Is proffered of the Lord

    To the slow-consuming Famine,

    The Pestilence and Sword!

    When the refuges of Falsehood

    Shall be swept away in wrath,

    And the temple shall be shaken,

    With its idol, to the earth,

    Shall not thy words of warning

    Be all remembered then?

    And thy now unheeded message

    Burn in the hearts of men?

    Oppression’s hand may scatter

    Its nettles on thy tomb,

    And even Christian bosoms

    Deny thy memory room;

    For lying lips shall torture

    Thy mercy into crime,

    And the slanderer shall flourish

    As the bay-tree for a time.

    But where the south-wind lingers

    On Carolina’s pines,

    Or falls the careless sunbeam

    Down Georgia’s golden mines;

    Where now beneath his burthen

    The toiling slave is driven;

    Where now a tyrant’s mockery

    Is offered unto Heaven;

    Where Mammon hath its altars

    Wet o’er with human blood,

    And pride and lust debases

    The workmanship of God,—

    There shall thy praise be spoken,

    Redeemed from Falsehood’s ban,

    When the fetters shall be broken,

    And the slave shall be a man!

    Joy to thy spirit, brother!

    A thousand hearts are warm,

    A thousand kindred bosoms

    Are baring to the storm.

    What though red-handed Violence

    With secret Fraud combine?

    The wall of fire is round us,

    Our Present Help was thine.

    Lo, the waking up of nations,

    From Slavery’s fatal sleep;

    The murmur of a Universe,

    Deep calling unto Deep!

    Joy to thy spirit, brother!

    On every wind of heaven

    The onward cheer and summons

    Of Freedom’s voice is given!

    Glory to God forever!

    Beyond the despot’s will

    The soul of Freedom liveth

    Imperishable still.

    The words which thou hast uttered

    Are of that soul a part,

    And the good seed thou hast scattered

    Is springing from the heart.

    In the evil days before us,

    And the trials yet to come,

    In the shadow of the prison,

    Or the cruel martyrdom,—

    We will think of thee, O brother!

    And thy sainted name shall be

    In the blessing of the captive,

    And the anthem of the free.

    1834.


    Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD