  This is the hour they then foretold— When earth, inebriate with crime, Laughed right to scorn, and guilt, grown bold, Knelt worshiping at mammon's shrine. This is the hour! Corruption's band Is driven back; and periled right, Rescued by the "fanatic" hand, Spans our broad heaven of light. Righteousness ne'er—awestruck or dumb— Feared for an hour the tyrant's heel! Injustice to the combat sprang; God to the rescue—Liberty, peal! Joy is in every belfry bell— Joy for the captive! Sound it long! Ye who have wept fourscore can tell The holy meaning of their song. 'Tis freedom's birthday—blood-bought boon! O war-rent flag! O soldier-shroud! Thine be the glory—nor too soon Is heard your "Cry aloud!" O not too soon is rent the chain And charter, trampling right in dust! Till God is God no longer—ne'er again Quench liberty that's just. Lynn, Mass., February 3, 1865. |
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