[BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.]

Is living thought, proud condor of the mind,
By walls of rock and iron bars confined,
Innate divinity by human courts enslaved,
And right eternal by a dust-worm braved?
Think you the spirit's rapid flight to mar
With dungeon torture and by iron bar?
Can rock-ribbed walls and bars of steel
Deprive man of the power to feel?
Can you the stream of Lethe roll
In maddening torrents o'er the soul,
Pluck from my brow love's garland fair
And brand me "Victim of despair?"
No! weakling son of vengeful fate,
God grants to none a power so great.
My body is your lawful prey,
Poor lump of spirit-crumbling clay;
Seize, chain and manacle each part,
Aye, even starve my bleeding heart,
But know that for Creative Thought
All fetters by one's self is wrought.
Mind, glorious Mind—Jehovah's sleepless breath,
Can know no bondage and can feel no death.
In yon fair regions of unreached repose
Eternal Beauty's flower-chalice glows,
Filled to the brim with satisfying wine,
Ambrosial nectar of the Tuneful Nine.
My muse can reach it on external wings
And drink till all the heart within me sings!
I scale the lofty heights, by virtue shown,
And from Eternal Wisdom seek my own.
There, far above the struggling world of fate,
I greet true freedom and am wisely great.
'Tis mine in bright elysian fields to roam,
Pluck jeweled treasure from the sleeping gnome;
Bid ocean deeps their mysteries reveal,
Or, soaring far above the world of space,
Gain raptured visions of the Holy Place;
Admire and measure every glittering throne,
Count heavenly treasure as my own,
Make august angels bow beneath my rod,
And even dare to mould the mind of God;
O radiant fields of pure, untrammeled Thought,
With what sweet incense are thy zephyrs fraught;
How clear the view, from thy exalted height,
Of human errors and unerring right;
'Tis thou alone my laboring Muse can teach
The perfect measure of her powers to reach;
She cons these fragments of a Truth sublime,
And art stands ready with appropriate rhyme
To trim each sentence and each word to place
In melting numbers of seductive grace;
Since first Jehovah, bending low to earth,
Breathed in man's nostrils an eternal birth,
The rain drop falling, from the heavy cloud,
In waiting dust, finds ready shroud,
And there commingling fills each separate cell,
Yet still remains as pure as when it fell:
To man appearing but a dampened clod,
'Tis chambered favor of a gracious God;
And serves his purpose till He calls above
This liquid semblance of Immortal Love,
There not to perish, but return again
To deck the forest and adorn the plain;
All nature feels its fructifying power
In laughing streamlets and in nodding flower;
The rain drop typifies the Pure Indwelling God,
That permeates our being, to animate a clod;
Give birth to all emotion, consistent with His plan,
And with unmeasured tenderness weep the fall of man.
From every nodding flower, from every whispering breeze
From mountain's lofty height, from towering trees,
From softly twinkling star, from lightning's giddy flash,
From the softest twitter of a bird and thunder's awful crash,
From hills the ants may call their own,
From crested elders 'round their throne,
From babbling brook, from storm-lashed wave,
From nature smiling, nature grave,
From earth and air, from sky and sea,
There comes the self same voice to me,
Like softest note of cooing dove,
And sweetly whispers, "God is Love."
All nature is obedient to heaven's august plan,
And none will dare rebellion, save ever-erring man.
He, of a dual nature—purity and lust—
Defies his Great Creator and thus betrays his trust.
Thrones within his being the hydra-headed sin,
All his joy to murder and create hell within;
Self-conscienceness completes the triple blow
While memories of happier years augments his hapless woe.
Whatever then of pleasure his wounded spirit knows
From the fountain of bitter repentance it onward, onward flows,
His own environment, be it either fair or fell,
Must now embower his heaven, or will create his hell.
Contentment, peace, or pleasure he must create anew
By sowing seeds of virtue where vice so lately grew.
He learns he must not do whatever man can do,
But recognize the limits of the just and true.
Law is his Alma mater, the measure of his right,
The barrier Jehovah set to curb irreverent flight;
He has the truest liberty who recognizes law;
'Tis made to shield his virtues and on his vices war;
He who denies humanity lives for himself alone
All history to hush, all culture to disown;
And quickly he relapses into a barbarous state,
Where only force and prowess can make the unit great.
None so lost to virtue, none so devoid of art,
As he who fails to capture the empire of a heart;
He who knows not sympathy feels no fellow's woe,
Will never feel the rapture of happiness below;
God planted seeds of pity in every human breast,
And he who loses most of woe secures most of rest:
Love is man's all, his conqueror, his cordial and wine,
The measure of his inner life that stamps him as divine.
How circumscribed the circle God allots to man,
His home is but an acre, his life is but a span;
And yet within that circle his influence is so great
He wakes the cooing notes of love or feeds the fires of hate;
His influence is potential within a circle small,
But beyond the limit of the same he does no good at all;
All thought, all power with which our being teems,
Is action predicated on events or on dreams.
All we have seen or heard, all we now can feel,
Leaves an imprint on the heart that the future must reveal:
The vain are truly lonely, they long to be admired,
One wishes to be understood, another well attired,
This hushed by useless longings or fashion's changing art,
That sweetest of all poems, the music of the heart.
But he who solves life's mystery is never quite alone,
All ages is his playground and solitude his throne;
He walks in subtle converse with all the mighty dead,
Gathering priceless jewels their wit or wisdom bred.
The watchtowers of his thought o'erlooks the struggling mass,
While events both past and present before his vision pass.
He sees the weary captive tugging at his chain;
The weather-beaten sailor plough the raging main;
The swarthy burden bearer in forest, mine and field;
The merchant's soiled ledgers, the soldier's brazen shield;
The child with glittering toy, the maiden at her glass;
The ruler of an empire, the leader of the mass;
The student in his study, the priest on bended knee;
The teacher with his ferrule, the aged human tree,
All fondly dream of freedom, yet all beneath the ban,
Each in a separate prison presided o'er by man;
Sees nature and morality are ever waging war,
The first as god of freedom, the latter lord of law.
Sees culture raise her barriers between polite and rude,
And hears Religion thunder, "Cover up the nude!"
Knows man in every station to be a willing slave,
The football of his passion, the dupe of every knave.
Yet hears him boast his freedom, laud his reasoning power;
Rule all he can with iron hand, and finite judgment shower;
Sees all the devious, hidden paths by sinful mortals trod
Where human law and custom dare ostracise a god;
Yet knows a germ of goodness, deep in the human breast,
Is living in the worst of men however much depressed.
Knows life is but the unit of God's Eternal Plan,
And learns to pity, not to blame, poor ever-erring man!
In each created atom sees faultless beauty glow
And God's Eternal purpose in onward sequence flow.
Views all souls as living harps, whose seeming dissonance
Is but apparent and not real; and believes, perchance,
God will mend each shattered chord, tune the quivering lyre,
And from out each soul shall bring a music sweeter, higher
Than earthly ears have ever heard or earthly lips essayed;
Such music as the ransomed sing in innocence arrayed;
While all the universe entranced shall wondering inquire:
"Is this the fruitage of His woe? Is this his soul's desire?
Is this the harp so late unstrung? Is this poor fallen man?
Ah! can it be that all was wrought obedient to God's plan"?

Nature will o'er matter bear imperial sway,
And all not immortal must in time decay;
Man's tenement is mortal, but himself divine;
Which should he most cherish, the jewel or its shrine?
Yet when vice allures him with seductive ray,
Gives he not to passion undisputed sway?
Dreams he not of beauty who, with open arms,
Calls for lust to enter and revel 'mid her charms?
Is his eye not captive? Do not his senses thrill?
What is left the tempted one save his feeble will?
If that will prove recreant to Jehovah's trust,
Pays he not the penalty in self-consuming lust?
Must his spirit suffer through unending years
For the shame he purchased with agonizing tears?
Life is but a shoe-broom, Nature is God's book
And he's the aptest scholar who all her laws can brook!
If love of right was constant man could well defy
All of sin's allurements and unspotted die!
One such man has lived who, with a faith sublime,
Crucified the temple where he dwelt in time,
And entered heaven victorious without the aid of grace,
The marvel of all centuries, the Savior of the race;
But had His will but weakened, Jesus, too, had fell,
And man without Redemption sank tottering into hell;
All would be good did not true goodness claim
Such earnest noble effort from a will so tame;
Crime is but a sequence of misguided will
Inherent moral defect and surrounding ill.
Man's innate love of beauty and his dread of pain,
His ever raging thirst for power and his greed for gain
Alternately do sway him with resistless power,
The spotless blossoms of the soul, until he only yearns
For the ever hideous lust that blackens as it burns.
Guilt comes not, thundering on the wings of time,
With vice-distorted feature and the leer of crime,
But like enchanting vision from a pagan dream,
Or softly echoed cadence of a whispering stream,
She steals upon us gently, with ever-changing art,
And usurps an empire—the waiting human heart!
Her outward form is beauty, her voice with Passion tense,
She only craves the privilege to gratify each sense;
All apparent pleasures 'round her path are spread,
But, alas! you seize the flower to find its fragrance fled;
But still pursuing, row with bated breath,
You clasp her to your bosom and—embrace a death!
Then, conscience stricken, you the wreck survey,
And with shuddering sorrow—humbly kneel to pray;
While the pitying angels on their pinions bear
The ever sacred burden of repentant prayer,
And almighty love descending reasserts control,
And mercy in the guise of grace has won a human soul;
But contrast a moment, with this heavenly plan,
The awful brutal conduct of exacting Man.
See yon martial champion riding on the flood
Of a frightful carnage and a sea of blood;
His path is strewn with many a ghastly sight,
Dead and dismembered bodies and defenseless fright!
Yet all the people with a loud acclaim
Pronounce him "Hero," and accord him Fame!
True, he butchers thousands in a cruel war,
Yet you deem him guiltless, he obeyed your law.
But if your angered brother slay a single man,
Him you brand a "Murderer," worthy of your ban;
And with zeal unbounded you wage relentless war
Until he falls, a victim to rage-created law.
As if a useless murderer, sanctioned by the state,
Was less the fruitage of revenge than one new-born of hate;
Perchance in some fair aiden, some far distant sphere
Your poor hapless victim these just words may hear:
"Thou art now forgiven, poor misguided son!
"Tho' tranced with dire passion thou hast slain but one.
"Thou hast made atonement, breathed a fiery breath
"Of a deep repentance and an awful death!
"Place on him the raiment—whiter far than snow,
"And teach his untried lips to sing the song the angels know.
"But as to yonder soldier who for the bauble fame
"Led unbattled thousands without fear or shame;
"And with banners flying to the bugle's chime
"Hurled obedient legions into conscious crime—
"All the tears he showed, all the blood he shed,
"Now in molten fire shall circle 'round his head,
"And all shall learn the lesson, that horror-breeding war
"Will never meet the sanction of Jehovah's law!"
This is no fancy picture, nor idle dream of youth,
But, if I know the laws of God, it is the solemn truth".

Behold a homeless wanderer, poor and thinly clad,
To biting cold a victim, with hunger almost mad,
Entering yonder mansion, dares to boldly steal
What none should e'er deny a dog—the pittance of a meal!
See the greedy sleuth-hounds of the outraged law
Wage against this robber an unrelenting war;
While Christian judge and jury, with ready wit, declare
His crime an awful outrage, that merits prison fare!
But he who rears his costly domes
O'er wreck and ruin of human homes,
Plants in the breast a raging thirst
And leaves his victims doubly cursed,
Can roll in luxury, loll in pride
And, with the law, his gain divide!
Tho' every dime he pays the state
A thousand cost in wakened hate!

A simple youth by passion lured,
And of but little wisdom steward,
Meets with a maid of witching grace
And dalliance ends in dire disgrace!
In prison stripes you teach the fool
That he must love by human rule!
Yet you rear great, costly piles
Where soiled doves may ply their wiles
And lead to an unhallowed bed
The lustful brute you lately wed.
If passion will assert her power
None shall dare a maid deflower
Unless so licensed by the state
In wedlock's bonds his lust to sate!
And, if marriage prove a bane,
Divorce, for cash, will ease his pain!
Then to your haunts of sin he hies
And laws of God and man defies
By casting, in a barren sea,
The germ of life that is to be!
'Tis true this evil you decry—
And raise your taxes mountain high!
As if the more the state shall gain
The less will virtue feel the strain!—
You legalize divorce and fraud,
And each successful scoundrel laud,
Unmindful tho' he gain his wealth
By open plunder or by stealth.
In vain his hapless victims cry,
His gold can legal silence buy!
But if through stress of penury's strife
One makes a shipwreck of his life,
You prisons build and place within
This fruitage of a law-made sin,
To linger till the cowering slave
Shall fill—unwept—a pauper's grave.
And scarce a line of obscure print
At this dark tragedy will hint;
But if your millioned puppy dies
What wailings rend the astonished skies!
What sabled hue and lengthened train
Attest your deep regret and pain!
How yon cathedral's vaulted arch
Will echo with his funeral march;
What flowers will deck his costly tomb;
What tapers rob the grave of gloom;
While columns, nay, whole papers tell
How great a man today has fell.
Deluded mortals! raise your eyes
To yon fair regions of the skies,
Where justice sits, each cause to try
Beneath Omniscience's searching eye;
Your "convict," on low bended knee,
Pleads "guilty"—and they set him free;
And angels crown, with loud acclaim,
The man you deemed a living shame!
Your Croesus, with uplifted eye,
(Still conscious of his station high)
Deigns to repeat, with growing stress,
How from defeat he wrung success;
Tells, with a proudly swelling heart,
Of millions spent on sculptured art;
And millions more on lordly hall,
The eye and heart of man to thrall;
Tells how a church and college new
From his donation quickly grew;
Tells how—in cushioned pew—he knelt
And begged God other hearts to melt,
Until each child of man should be,
Like his dear self, from error free;
All this they hear your idol tell—
And cast him headlong into hell!
While heaven bows her head with awe
In sanction of Jehovah's law.

What mighty solons fill your halls of state!
(Poor gibbering parrots with an empty pate),
Who deem all prisons of but little use
Not founded on starvation and abuse.
They lock poor pris'ners in a loathsome cell,
While lash and pistol drives them on to hell;
They crush his manhood and his soul debase,
Blot out ambition and his name disgrace,
Yet wonder greatly that such humane plan
Makes not an angel of each convict man.
These truthful samples of your legal page
Condemn your judgment and disgrace your age—
Too oft repeated, who will dare to say
To what dark horrors they may pave the way?
Pause! ere the records that now strew your path
Invite the vengeance of Jehovah's wrath;
Relearn the lesson early taught mankind,
"To God give reverence and to man be kind."
Be this your motto, and each setting sun
Will kiss the feature of a work begun;
Time cannot tarnish and no heart can blame
Your noble effort to deserve a name;
Heaven will applaud you, and the smile
Of happiness the hours beguile,
Why pay such homage to mere human laws?
Dread you man's censure or admire applause?
Are you forgetful that the crown of fame
Is purchased torture and expiring shame?
Think you man's plaudits or his causeless hate
Can either ope or close the pearly gate?
Who ever placed in man implicit trust,
Nor saw his idol, soon or late, in dust?
Why thus pursue an ever fading wraith?
'Tis God, and God alone, deserves your faith.
Survey all things with comprehensive view,
Admire all beauty and enthrone the true;
Know every mortal, tho' a separate soul,
Is but a fragment of the mighty whole
That fills a niche in God's eternal plan,
All for the welfare of ungrateful man;
Learn that in many a loathsome cell
A prisoned genius or a saint may dwell,
Whose power, developed by an act of love,
May lead a million to the Courts above.
Shall it be yours to touch that vibrant chord
And share the honor of the great reward?
What heaven endorses that alone can stand;
All else is stubble, built on shifting sand,
That shall vanish 'mid the fire and flood
Like tiny snowflakes in a sea of blood.
Oh, could my Muse, by some exalted flight,
Portray her knowledge of Eternal Right—
Breathe in soft accents to the listening ear
The melting music which my soul can hear,
Some would declare my reason half dethroned
Before my fancy to such heights had flown;
Yet could such see as I have seen the scroll
Where God has written "Destiny of Soul,"
They much would wonder how my Muse
Could dare suppress such glorious news.
What pen can picture or what brush can paint
The endless rapture of a raptured saint?
Words are too feeble; they but tell in part
The truthful language of a human heart;
But, Oh, when spirit from its cumbering clay
Shall rise triumphant to the realms of day,
What strains seraphic from our lips shall break
Till all creation shall to bliss awake!
O bliss supernal! when our lips shall meet—
The lips long buried—and our souls shall greet
The loved and cherished of those earlier years.
Ere pain had turned each quivering chord to tears,
And life was smiling in her morning hours
And love was conscious of her magic powers.
Oh, sweet reunion on the crystal strand!
When we shall fondly clasp the waiting hand
Of buried jewels distance hides from view,
And all the plighted vows of life renew,
Then shall we learn the truthfulness of love,
When hearts like ours, renewed in youth, above
All passion and the cloying cares of earth
Shall wake to rapture with a Second Birth!

O hearts estranged, forgive and be forgiven!
Your cruel coldness has already driven
The angel sweetness from your speaking eye,
And suffered everything, save pride, to die.
O cradle, in the lap of everlasting sleep
The dark, fierce passions that now rudely sweep
The sounding chambers of the suffering soul,
Where Hate's tumultuous torrents hourly roll,
And blacken what was once so white and fair,
When spotless Innocence was centered there!
Oh, keep no kisses for my cold, dead brow—
I am so lonely—let me feel them now.
When dreamless sleep is mine I never more can need
The tenderness for which tonight I plead;
My wayworn spirit and my thorn-pierced feet
The piteous pleadings of my lips repeat.
Oh, shall I plead and plead with you in vain
To bring love's sunlight to my soul again?
Shall acts repented, bred of undue haste,
Lay all my stock of future pleasures waste?
Bid me to draw a servile, galling chain,
Nor wish to murmur, nor murmur to complain?
Will you deprive my hungry soul of love,
Nor leave one spark of happiness above?
Oh, what base deed has these my fingers wrought
To wake a malice with each vengeance fraught?
If I have sinned and disobeyed your laws,
Discarded fashion and despised applause,
Have I not suffered all a man can know,
And drank the bitterest dregs of human woe?
Think you my proud and haughty soul to cower
With scorpion lashes of tempestuous power?
Go scourge the ocean with puny lash,
Or raze a mountain with a feather's crash!
Why thus torment my swift declining age
With useless torture of unreasoning rage?
'Twere best to sound the caverns of my soul
And learn the being whom you dare control!
'Twill teach you wisdom in a single hour
And rob your malice of its wasting power!
For heaven has writ upon each poet soul
"Deal gently with him and his all control."