“On either side my foe they own: One guards through love his ghastly throne, And one through fear to reverence grown.

“ Why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed, By open foes, or those afraid To speed thy coming through my aid ?

“ Why watch to see who win or fall ? —
I shake the dust against them all,
I leave them to their senseless brawl.”

“Nay,” Peace implored : “yet longer wait; The doom is near, the stake is great: God knoweth if it be too late.

“ Still wait and watch ; the way prepare Where I with folded wings of prayer May follow, weaponless and bare.”

“ Too late!” the stern, sad voice replied, “ Too late!” its mournful echo sighed, In low lament the answer died.

A rustling as of wings in flight,
An upward gleam of lessening white,
So passed the vision, sound and sight.

But round me, like a silver bell
Rung down the listening sky to tell
Of holy help, a sweet voice fell.

“Still hope and trust,” it sang; “the rod Must fall, the wine-press must be trod, But all is possible with God!”

V OU flung your taunt across the wave;

1 We bore it as became us, Well knowing that the fettered slave Left friendly lips no option save

To pity or to blame us.

You scoffed our plea. “Mere lack of will,

Not lack of power,” you told us :
We showed our free-state records ; still
You mocked, confounding good and ill,

Slave-haters and slaveholders.

We struck at Slavery; to the verge

Of power and means we checked it;

Lo!— presto, change! its claims you urge, Send greetings to it o'er the surge,

And comfort and protect it.

But yesterday you scarce could shake,

In slave-abhorring rigor, Our Northern palms, for conscience' sake: To-day you clasp the hands that ache

With “walloping the nigger!” *

O Englishmen! – in hope and creed,

In blood and tongue our brothers ! We too are heirs of Runnymede ; And Shakespeare's fame and Cromwell's deed

Are not alone our mother's.

“ Thicker than water,'' in one rill

Through centuries of story

Our Saxon blood has flowed, and still
We share with you its good and ill,

The shadow and the glory.

Joint heirs and kinfolk, leagues of wave

Nor length of years can part us: Your right is ours to shrine and grave, The common freehold of the brave,

The gift of saints and martyrs.

Our very sins and follies teach

Our kindred frail and human : We carp at faults with bitter speech, The while for one unshared by each

We have a score in common.

We bowed the heart, if not the knee,

To England's Queen, God bless her! We praised you when your slaves went free: We seek to unchain ours. Will ye

Join hands with the oppressor ?