The Atlantic Monthly, page 129 by Various Authors
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a finer print, which lay unseen between the lines. They are themselves battles, and stir the blood like the blast of a trumpet. What a beat in them of fiery pulses! What a heat, as of molten metal, or coal-mines burning underground! What anger! What desire! And yet we have in vain searched these poems to find one trace of base wrath, or of any degenerate and selfish passion. He is angry, and sins not. The sun goes down and again rises upon his wrath; and neither sets nor rises upon aught freer from meanness and egoism. All the fires of his heart burn for justice and mercy, for God and humanity; and they who are most scathed by them owe him no hatred in return, whether they pay him any or not.
Not a few of these verses seem written for the present day. Take the following from the poem entitled, "Texas"; they might be deemed a call for volunteers.
"Up the hill-side, down the glen, Rouse the sleeping citizen, Summon forth the might of men!
* * * * *
"Oh! for God and duty stand, Heart to heart and hand to hand, Round the old graves of the land.
"Whoso shrinks or falters now, Whoso to the yoke would bow,-- Brand the craven on his brow!
"Perish party, perish clan! Strike together, while ye can, Like the arm of one strong man."
The Administration might have gone to these poems for a policy: he had fought the battle before them.
"Have they wronged us? Let us, then, Render back nor threats nor prayers; Have they chained our freeborn men? LET US UNCHAIN THEIRS!"
Or look at these concluding stanzas of "The Crisis," which is the last of the "Voices." Has not our prophet written them for this very day?
"The crisis presses on us; face to face with us it stands, With solemn lips of question, like the Sphinx in Egypt's sands! This day we fashion Destiny, our web of Fate we spin; This day for all hereafter choose we holiness or sin; Even now from starry Gerizim, or Ebal's cloudy crown, We call the dews of blessing or the bo