Freedom, Truth And Beauty Part 10

Child-like, I look up in thy loving face, Else gaze around and point, and curious place My hand on Mottoes, hung on high. One saith: "Beware, for he not with me scatterith."

Its meaning comes to me with growth, like grace.

Ah, as a youngster, on its mother's arm, Seeing a hideous thing approaching night, Will not lay down its head and shut its eye, But will with look and lung express alarm-- My mind cries out in dread--when sea and sky Show dragons, tendencies that work thee harm.

II

O Freedom! Up to whose raised hand the seas Leap, playful lions, or with head and main Across their paws lie couchant--it is pain To see thee whose heart beats are G.o.d's decrees, And vital breathings are infinities, Now check thy heart and hold thy breath to gain The smile and plaudit of a depths with bane In finger tips, while fawning on their knees.

What! Think the tyrant, whose great soul is trade, Whose history, a crater, belching black And lurid, keeps glad Easter morning back From half the world--loves thee save to invade, As blackward planned? loves thee, along whose track March Human rights up to the stars parade?

NEMESIS

There where the Tyrant long has loomed, wreck-crowned, Are young and old hurled to the coast and blast.

Frail are their ships; still, Sun, why glare aghast, Watching the billows monstering around?

The soul of man was not born to be drowned.

It mounts and mounts, till, at G.o.d's throne, at last, And freedom welcomes it with arms, sky-vast, As down it comes to meet Thrall and confound.

O, deathless spirit, born of hosts sea-hurled, Who hast out soared night's stars with agony's cry For justice! Thou hast come down from the sky, Heralding doom to Thrall, whose flag unfurled By steel, or craft, shows, as 'tis hoisted high, The blood of man and ruin of the world.

ALL STARS MERGED IN ONE

What is the Truth? The thought, the act, or cry, Recasting the Supreme Intelligence; All else is false. Look! where are stars so dense, That each has not the freedom of the sky?

And, still, what peace, what glory, reigns on high!

What! with the wisdom of the heavens, dispense?

The Peace, for which our longings grow intense, Comes through the stars to earth, and but thereby.

What splits dark mid-night and gives earth a thrill?

All stars merged into one--our Country's aim.

It is a lightening, formed by G.o.d, to flame Across the ages and flash bolts to kill The stranglers, who the heart or spirit, main, Or choke black in the face, a People's Will.

LINCOLN'S LIGHTENING IN WILSON'S HANDS

I

Who is to rise and hurl G.o.d's flame world-wide, As Lincoln hurled it, setting free a race From Sphinx-shaped wrong--a beast with human face?

That shattered, how our land rose glorified And, from the stars last laggard, soared, their guide!

Oh, who can take Promethean Lincoln's place, To bring light where-so-ever he can trace A Human, with his rights to soul denied?

He must be one, not only to illume All ages, and not leave one region dim, But at no height, allow his senses swim, Or let mirages lure him with false bloom.

Lo! Here one comes with all the virtues prim To hurl G.o.d's fire and end all human gloom.

II

'Tis Wilson takes G.o.d's flame from Lincoln's hand.

This Princeton man,--who has outgrown the prince, A hundred years, and, in the ocean since, Seen with delight, Eternity expand And loom in glory from the despot's strand,-- Shapes fourteen dazzling bolts without a wince.

He pauses. Why not hurl them and convince The world that, hence-forth, not one thrall shall stand?

What! Wilson's arm lacks strength to hurl the flame, G.o.d gave to Lincoln for the Human race?

Look! Look! it falls. What! Gone? Quenched by dark s.p.a.ce?

No; it describes an orbit there, the same As comets, and regains its heavenly place For one to hurl it true, and doom Earth's Shame.

THE CATACLYSM

In Wilson we beheld and proudly hailed The World's Deliverer. In him, we saw A luminous being rise from earth and draw All lands above the clouds. We were regaled With justice cascades flow, long ice impaled Upon high mountains. Was not Nature's thaw From his heart heat for truth, Eternal Law?

His was the heat of all the stars, he scaled.

Though his ascension was like Christ's, sublime With lift of continents and every isle, He, less than Christ, succ.u.mbed to Demon Guile.

Oh, G.o.d, that he should drop his mountain climb Below sea-level, and let earth the while, Fall back and settle in Primeval Slime!

AN EPOCH'S ANGEL FALL

Judging from Wilson's virile virtue-voice, Whose whisper hushed Earth's Hum, were we not proud To have him cross the sea to speak aloud And, with a finger raised, hush battle noise, And lift all lands to Justice's equipoise?

Oh, such his truth to G.o.d,--so oft avowed,-- A spirit thund'red from a luminous cloud: "This man crowns Lincoln's work. All Men! Rejoice."

Oh, had he read his bible where St. Paul, Grown man, put off child things--or, had not smiled, When told, strong Ego oft, is man grown child!

Look! Who sees not an Epoch's Angel Fall From hope for earth, in Wilson's truth, beguiled By second childhood's toys to play with thrall?

THE AMERICA OF THE FUTURE

I

Our Country still is in the womb, dark Time.

It shows life by its brisk and robust turns, Which thrill the Mother, Liberty, who yearns To see her man-child born. Oh, how sublime With genius, not of one, but every climb Where art forms beauty, or the spirit spurns The foul and spurious,--her desire, that burns Prenatally in him, to form him prime!