outspoke the King,
Through purple lips of wrath—
“What shall be done to her who dares
To cross your monarch’s path?”
Then spake his wily counsellors—
“O King of this fair land!
From distant Ind to Ethiop,
All bow to thy command.
“But if, before thy servants’ eyes,
This thing they plainly see,
That Vashti doth not heed thy will
Nor yield herself to thee,
“The women, restive ’neath our rule,
Would learn to scorn our name,
And from her deed to us would come
Reproach and burning shame.
“Then, gracious King, sign with thy hand
This stern but just decree,
That Vashti lay aside her crown,
Thy Queen no more to be.”
She heard again the King’s command,
And left her high estate,
Strong in her earnest womanhood,
She calmly met her fate,
And left the palace of the King,
Proud of her spotless name—
A woman who could bend to grief,
But would not bow to shame.
The Change
The blue sky arching overhead,
The green turf ’neath my daily tread,
All glorified by freedom’s light,
Grow fair and lovely to my sight.
The very winds that sweep along
Seemed burdened with a lovely song,
Nor shrieks nor groans of grief or fear,
Float on their wings and pain my ear.
No more with dull and aching breast,
Roused by the horn—I rise from rest
Content and cheerful with my lot,
I greet the sun and leave my cot.
For darling child and loving wife
I toil with newly waken’d life;
The light that lingers round her smile
The shadows from my soul beguile.
The pratile of my darling boy
Fills my old heart with untold joy;
Before his laughter, mirth and song
Fade out long scores of grief and wrong.
Oh, never did the world appear
So lovely to my eye and ear,
’Till Freedom came, with Joy and Peace,
And bade my hateful bondage cease!
The Dying Mother
Come nearer to me, husband,
Now the aching leaves my breast,
But my eyes are dim and weary,
And to-night I fain would rest.
Clasp me closer to your bosom
Ere I calmly sleep in death;
With your arms enfolded round me
I would yield my parting breath.
Bring me now my darling baby,
God’s own precious gift of love,
Tell her she must meet her mother
In the brighter world above.
When her little feet grow stronger
To walk life’s paths untrod,
That earnest, true and hopeful,
She must lay her hands on God.
Tell my other little children
They must early seek His face;
That His love is a strong tower,
And His arms a hiding place.
Tell them—but my voice grows fainter—
Surely, husband, this is death—
Tell them that their dying mother
Bless’d them with her latest breath.
Words for the Hour
Men of the North! it is no time
To quit the battle-field;
When danger fronts your rear and van
It is no time to yield.
No time to bend the battle’s crest
Before the wily foe,
And, ostrich-like, to hide your heads
From the impending blow.
The minions of a baffled wrong
Are marshalling their clan,
Rise up! rise up, enchanted North!
And strike for God and man.
This is no time for careless ease;
No time for idle sleep;
Go light the fires in every camp,
And solemn sentries keep.
The foe ye foiled upon the field
Has only changed his base;
New dangers crowd around you
And stare you in the face.
O Northern men! within your hands
Is held no common trust;
Secure the victories won by blood
When treason bit the dust.
’Tis yours to banish from the land
Oppression’s iron rule;
And o’er the ruin’d auction-block
Erect the common school.
To wipe from labor’s branded brow
The curse that shamed the land;
And teach the Freedman how to wield
The ballot in his hand.
This is the nation’s golden hour,
Nerve every heart and hand,
To build on Justice, as a rock,
The future of the land.
True to your trust, oh, never yield
One citadel of right!
With Truth and Justice clasping hands
Ye yet shall win the fight!
President Lincoln’s Proclamation of Freedom
It shall flash through coming ages;
It shall light the distant years;
And eyes now dim with sorrow
Shall be clearer through their tears.
It shall flush the mountain ranges;
And the valleys shall grow bright;
It shall bathe the hills in radiance,
And crown their brows with light.
It shall flood with golden splendor
All the huts of Caroline,
And the sun-kissed brow of labor
With lustre new shall shine.
It shall gild the gloomy prison,
Darken’d by the nation’s crime,
Where the dumb and patient millions
Wait the better coming time.
By the light that gilds their prison,
They shall seize its mould’ring key,
And the bolts and bars shall vibrate
With the triumphs of the free.
Like the dim and ancient chaos,
Shrinking from the dawn of light.
Oppression, grim and hoary,
Shall cower at the sight.
And her spawn of lies and malice
Shall grovel in the dust,
While joy shall thrill the bosoms
Of the merciful and just.
Though the morning seemed to linger
O’er the hill-tops far away,
Now the shadows bear the promise
Of the quickly coming day.
Soon the mists and murky shadows
Shall be fringed with crimson light,
And the glorious dawn of freedom
Break refulgent on the sight.
To a Babe Smiling in Her Sleep
Tell me, did the angels greet thee?
Greet my darling when she smiled?
Did they whisper, softly, gently,
Pleasant thoughts unto my child?
Did they whisper, ’mid thy dreaming,
Thoughts that made thy spirit glad?
Of the joy-lighted city,
Where the heart is never sad?
Did they tell thee of the fountains,
Clear as crystal, fair as light,
And the glory-brightened country,
Never shaded by a night?
Of life’s pure, pellucid river,
And the tree whose leaves do yield
Healing for the wounded nations—
Nations smitten, bruised and peeled?
Of the city, ruby-founded,
Built on gems of flashing light,
Paling all earth’s lustrous jewels,
And the gates of pearly white?
Darling, when life’s shadows deepen
Round thy prison-house of clay,
May the footsteps of God’s angels
Ever linger round thy way.
The Artist
He stood before his finished work;
His heart beat warm and high;
But they who gazed upon the youth
Knew well that he must die.
For many days a fever fierce
Had
