That the care of the storm-controlling power
May be over the post-boy's way?
The wayward wanderer from his home,
The sailor upon the sea,
Have prayers to bless them where they roam—
Who thinketh to pray for me?
But the scene is changed! up rides the moon
Like a ship upon the sea;
Now on my steeds! this glorious noon
Of a night so dark shall be
A scene for us; toss high your heads
And cheerily speed away;
We shall startle the sleepers in their beds
Before the dawn of day.
Like a shuttle thrown by the hand of fate
Forward and back I go:
Bearing a thread to the desolate
To darken their web of woe:
And a brighter thread to the glad of heart,
And a mingled one for all;
But the dark and the light I cannot part,
Nor alter their hues at all.
SONG OF THE AGE.
Men talk of the iron age—
Of the golden age they prate,
And with sigh on lips so sage
Discourse of our fallen state.
They tell of the stalwart frames
Our gallant grandsires bore;
But, honor to their good names,
This century asks for more:
It asks for men with the toiling brains,
Whose words can undo the captive's chains,
For men of right and men of might,
Whose heads, not hands, decide the fight!
And a mighty band they come,
More strong than the hosts of old;
Nor by clarion blast nor drum
Is their onward march foretold.
But with firm and silent tread,
And with true hearts heaving high,
On, on where the wrong hath led—
They will vanquish it or die!
And they heard the lion in his den,
With the fearless souls of honest men,
Like men of right and men of might,
Whose heads, not hands, decide the fight.
Tell not of the ages past,
There is darkness on their brow;
For truth has only come at last,
And the only time is now!
Away with your empty love,
And your cant of other times,
For mind is the spell of power—
Ye will learn its might betimes!
For this is the age of toiling brains,
Of liberties won, and broken chains,
Of men of right and men of might,
Whose heads, not hands, decide the fight.
RESOLUTION.
Room, room for the freed spirit! Let it fling
Its pinions worn with bondage once more wide,
And if in earth or air there is a thing
To stay its soaring, let the heavens chide!
Away, the silken bondage of young dreams;
No more in gentle dalliance I'll lay
My hand upon my lute, like one who seems
In half unconscious idleness to play.
But all there is in me of living soul,
