John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). The Poetical Works in Four Volumes. 1892.
Anti-Slavery PoemsIn War Time
The Watchers
B
On the torn turf, on grass and wood,
Hung heavily the dew of blood.
But all the air was quick with pain
And gusty sighs and tearful rain.
And folded wings and noiseless tread,
Watched by that valley of the dead.
And lips of blessing, not command,
Leaned, weeping, on her olive wand.
His restless eyes were watch-fires lit,
His hands for battle-gauntlets fit.
“Is there no respite? no release?
When shall the hopeless quarrel cease?
Is more than any parchment scroll,
Or any flag thy winds unroll.
How weigh the gift that Lyon gave,
Or count the cost of Winthrop’s grave?
Tell how and when the end shall be,
What hope remains for thee and me.”
No strife nor pang beneath the sun,
When human rights are staked and won.
I watched in Toussaint’s cell of rock,
I walked with Sidney to the block.
Through Jersey snows the march I led,
My voice Magenta’s charges sped.
I watch a vague and aimless fight
For leave to strike one blow aright.
One guards through love his ghastly throne,
And one through fear to reverence grown.
By open foes, or those afraid
To speed thy coming through my aid?
I shake the dust against them all,
I leave them to their senseless brawl.”
The doom is near, the stake is great:
God knoweth if it be too late.
Where I with folded wings of prayer
May follow, weaponless and bare.”
“Too late!” its mournful echo sighed,
In low lament the answer died.
An upward gleam of lessening white,
So passed the vision, sound and sight.
Rung down the listening sky to tell
Of holy help, a sweet voice fell.
Must fall, the wine-press must be trod,
But all is possible with God!”