At Washington

WITH a cold and wintry noon-lightOn its roofs and steeples shed,Shadows weaving with the sunlightFrom the gray sky overhead,Broadly, vaguely, all around me, lies the half-builttown outspread.

Through this broad street, restless ever,Ebbs and flows a human tide,Wave on wave a living river;Wealth and fashion side by side;Toiler, idler, slave and master, in the same quickcurrent glide.

Underneath yon dome, whose copingSprings above them, vast and tall,Grave men in the dust are gropingFor the largess, base and small,Which the hand of Power is scattering, crumbswhich from its table fall.

Base of heart! They vilely barterHonor's wealth for party's place;Step by step on Freedom's charterLeaving footprints of disgrace;For to-day's poor pittance turning from the greathope of their race.

Yet, where festal lamps are throwingGlory round the dancer's hair,Gold-tressed, like an angel's, flowingBackward on the sunset air;And the low quick pulse of music beats its measuresweet and rare.

There to-night shall woman's glances,Star-like, welcome give to them;Fawning fools with shy advancesSeek to touch their garments' hem,With the tongue of flattery glozing deeds whichGod and Truth condemn.

From this glittering lie my visionTakes a broader, sadder range,Full before me have arisenOther pictures dark and strange;From the parlor to the prison must the scene andwitness change.

Hark! the heavy gate is swingingOn its hinges, harsh and slow;One pale prison lamp is flingingOn a fearful group belowSuch a light as leaves to terror whatsoe'er it doesnot show.

Pitying God! Is that a womanOn whose wrist the shackles clash?Is that shriek she utters human,Underneath the stinging lash?Are they men whose eyes of madness from that sadprocession flash?

Still the dance goes gayly onwardWhat is it to Wealth and PrideThat without the stars are lookingOn a scene which earth should hide?That the slave-ship lies in waiting, rockingon Potomac's tide!

Vainly to that mean AmbitionWhich, upon a rival's fall,Winds above its old condition,With a reptile's slimy crawl,Shall the pleading voice of sorrow, shall the slavein anguish call.

Vainly to the child of Fashion,Giving to ideal woeGraceful luxury of compassion,Shall the stricken mourner go;Hateful seems the earnest sorrow, beautiful thehollow show!

Nay, my words are all too sweeping:In this crowded human mart,Feeling is not dead, but sleeping;Man's strong will and woman's heart,In the coming strife for Freedom, yet shall beartheir generous part.

And from yonder sunny valleys,Southward in the distance lost,Freedom yet shall summon alliesWorthier than the North can boast,With the Evil by their hearth-stones grappling atseverer cost.

Now, the soul alone is willingFaint the heart and weak the knee;And as yet no lip is thrillingWith the mighty words, "Be Free!"Tarrieth long the land's Good Angel, but hisadvent is to be!

Meanwhile, turning from the revelTo the prison-cell my sight,For intenser hate of evil,For a keener sense of right,Shaking off thy dust, I thank thee, City of theSlaves, to-night!

"To thy duty now and ever!Dream no more of rest or stayGive to Freedom's great endeavorAll thou art and hast to-day:"Thus, above the city's murmur, saith a Voice, orseems to say.

Ye with heart and vision giftedTo discern and love the right,

Whose worn faces have been liftedTo the slowly-growing light,Where from Freedom's sunrise drifted slowlyback the murk of night

Ye who through long years of trialStill have held your purpose fast,While a lengthening shade the dialfrom the westering sunshine cast,And of hope each hour's denial seemed an echo ofthe last!

O my brothers! O my sistersWould to God that ye were near,Gazing with me down the vistasOf a sorrow strange and drear;Would to God that ye were listeners to the VoiceI seem to hear!

With the storm above us driving,With the false earth mined below,Who shall marvel if thus strivingWe have counted friend as foe;Unto one another giving in the darkness blow forblow.

Well it may be that our naturesHave grown sterner and more hard,And the freshness of their featuresSomewhat harsh and battle-scarred,And their harmonies of feeling overtasked andrudely jarred.

Be it so. It should not swerve usFrom a purpose true and brave;Dearer Freedom's rugged serviceThan the pastime of the slave;Better is the storm above it than the quiet ofthe grave.

Let us then, uniting, buryAll our idle feuds in dust,And to future conflicts carryMutual faith and common trust;Always he who most forgiveth in his brother ismost just.

From the eternal shadow roundingAll our sun and starlight here,Voices of our lost ones soundingBid us be of heart and cheer,Through the silence, down the spaces, falling onthe inward ear.

Know we not our dead are lookingDownward with a sad surprise,All our strife of words rebukingWith their mild and loving eyes?Shall we grieve the holy angels? Shall we cloudtheir blessed skies?

Let us draw their mantles o'er usWhich have fallen in our way;Let us do the work before us,Cheerly, bravely, while we may,Ere the long night-silence cometh, and with us it isnot day!