Poems (Greenwood)/The army of reform

by Grace Greenwood

THE ARMY OF REFORM,

Yes, ye are few,—and they were few,
 Who, daring storm and sea,
Once raised upon old Plymouth rock
 "The anthem of the free."

And they were few, at Lexington,
 To battle, of to die,—
That lightning-flash, that thunder-peal,
 That told the storm was nigh.

And they were few, who dauntless stood
 Upon old Bunker's height,
And waged with Britain's strength and pride,
 The fierce, unequal fight.

And they were few, who, all unawed
 By kingly "rights divine,"
The Declaration, rebel scroll,
 Untrembling dared to sign.

Yes, ye are few, for one proud glance
 Can take in all your band,
As now against a countless host,
 Firm, true, and calm, ye stand.

Unmoved by Folly's idiot laugh,
 Hate's curse, or Envy's frown,—
Wearing your rights as royal robes,
 Your manhood as a crown,—

With eyes whose gaze, unveiled by mists,
 Still rises clearer, higher,—
With stainless hands, and lips that Truth
 Hath touched with living fire,—

With one high hope, that ever shines
 Before you as a star,—
One prayer of faith, one fount of strength,—
 A glorious few ye are!

Ye dare not fear, ye cannot fail,
 Your destiny ye bind
To that sublime, eternal law,
 That rules the march of mind.

See yon bold eagle, toward the sun
 Now rising free and strong,
And see yon mighty river roll
 Its sounding tide along:

Ah! yet near earth the eagle tires,
 Lost in the sea, the river;
But naught can stay the human mind,
 'T is upward, onward, ever!

It yet shall tread the starlit paths,
 By highest angels trod,
And pause but at the farthest world
 In the universe of God.

'T is said that Persia's baffled king,
 In mad, tyrannic pride,
Cast fetters on the Hellespont,
 To curb its swelling tide:

But freedom's own true spirit heaves
 The bosom of the main;
It tossed those fetters to the skies,
 And bounded on again!

The scorn of each succeeding age
 On Xerxes' head was hurled,
And o'er that foolish deed has pealed
 The long laugh of a world.

Thus, thus, defeat, and scorn, and shame;
 Is his, who strives to bind
The restless, leaping waves of thought,
 The free tide of the mind.