Poems (Jones)/The Year of Peace
AKE room in heaven, ye starry choirs, that loud your lofty anthems sing!Here's one whose voice shall drown your lyres, and make the sky-built arches ring:While fleet as light he soars aloft, with milkwhite hand his harp he beats—And hark! the midnight echo soft, some faint, far-wandering strain repeats!—
THE YEAR OF PEACE.January 1st, 1866.
AKE room in heaven, ye starry choirs, that loud your lofty anthems sing!Here's one whose voice shall drown your lyres, and make the sky-built arches ring:While fleet as light he soars aloft, with milkwhite hand his harp he beats—And hark! the midnight echo soft, some faint, far-wandering strain repeats!—"Cleft is the steel-wrought helm of Guilt, and shattered is the brazen shield;His sword lies broken at the hilt; prone sleeps the giant on the field;No more those bolts of battle smite, that, onward crashing, shook the world;And from the battlements of Right are all its mad assailants hurled.
"Columbia lives! the mighty deeps whose purple waves against her bore, Roll back down Time's unsounded steeps, and, darkly sinking, swell no more.Columbia lives! behold her rise, with glistening raiment pure as snow!Her star of morning mounts the skies—she sees the crimson glories grow.
"Enrapt, with heavenward gaze she stands—God's oriflamme above her flung—With Victory's roses in her hands, and songs of triumph on her tongue.The sapphire doors half open sway, where all her martyrs passed from view,—Reluctant yet to darken day nor let such kingly warriors through.
"From mountain range to mountain range a proud prophetic voice is rolled:—'Though empires fall, though oceans change, still shall Columbia wax not old!Ere Time her throne shall overthrow, or aught its broad foundations rock,The crescent moon shall cease to grow, the sun to lead his starry flock!'"
Make room, make room, ye sun-bright choirs—swell the loud anthem of the Year!Strike well your glad concordant lyres; the sky's reverberant arches hear! But hark! ere yet the echo fails that soft your midnight strain repeats,Pale Sorrow In her cavern wails, and wild her solemn harp she beats:—
"O ye who strove when close and fast War's flaming arrows hissed afar,And where god Slavery rode, were cast to death, beneath its gory car;And thou great Chief, who, sure of God, within the fiery furnace thrown,Like those of old securely trod, nor walked the burning path alone;
"Bay-crowned, the golden hills ye climb, and holy hosts your ranks surround:They lead your skyward march sublime, while all heaven's pealing clarions sound;The stars may linger in their spheres, the suns may falter as they whirl,Ye still will count your blissful years,—like silver shining flowers unfurl.
"But year on year shall roll away; while blossoms blush or fade the leaves,Ye shall not through our valleys stray, nor bind again our rustling sheaves. Ah people, rear your shafts of pride, loud hymns and endless praises pour—Their countless graves ye may not hide, and Love sits weeping evermore!"
Peace, peace, ye midnight harpers wild! ye hills your echoing sighs refrain!All cherub-fair yon rosy child, star-heralded, comes down to reign,From heaven a voice the silence rends—while crowned and sceptred on he moves—"Columbians, lo! the fire descends, and God your holocaust approves!"