In War Time, and Other Poems/Astraea at the Capitol
ASTRÆA AT THE CAPITOL.
ABOLITION OF SLAVERY IN THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, 1862.
When first I saw our banner waveAbove the nation's council-hall,I heard beneath its marble wallThe clanking fetters of the slave!
In the foul market-place I stood,And saw the Christian mother sold,And childhood with its locks of gold,Blue-eyed and fair with Saxon blood.
I shut my eyes, I held my breath,And, smothering down the wrath and shameThat set my Northern blood aflame,Stood silent,—where to speak was death.
Beside me gloomed the prison-cellWhere wasted one in slow declineFor uttering simple words of mine,And loving freedom all too well.
The flag that floated from the domeFlapped menace in the morning air;I stood a perilled stranger whereThe human broker made his home.
For crime was virtue: Gown and SwordAnd Law their threefold sanction gave,And to the quarry of the slaveWent hawking with our symbol-bird.
On the oppressor's side was power;And yet I knew that every wrong,However old, however strong,But waited God's avenging hour.
I knew that truth would crush the lie,—Somehow, some time, the end would be;Yet scarcely dared I hope to seeThe triumph with my mortal eye.
But now I see it! In the sunA free flag floats from yonder dome,And at the nation's hearth and homeThe justice long delayed is done.
Not as we hoped, in calm of prayer,The message of deliverance comes,But heralded by roll of drumsOn waves of battle-troubled air!—
'Midst sounds that madden and appall,The song that Bethlehem's shepherds knew!The harp of David melting throughThe demon-agonies of Saul!
Not as we hoped;—but what are we?Above our broken dreams and plansGod lays, with wiser hand than man's,The corner-stones of liberty.
I cavil not with Him: the voiceThat freedom's blessed gospel tellsIs sweet to me as silver bells,Rejoicing!—yea, I will rejoice!
Dear friends still toiling in the sun,—Ye dearer ones who, gone before,Are watching from the eternal shoreThe slow work by your hands begun,—
Rejoice with me! The chastening rodBlossoms with love; the furnace heatGrows cool beneath His blessed feetWhose form is as the Son of God!
Rejoice! Our Marah's bitter springsAre sweetened; on our ground of griefRise day by day in strong reliefThe prophecies of better things.
Rejoice in hope! The day and nightAre one with God, and one with themWho see by faith the cloudy hemOf Judgment fringed with Mercy's light!
