In The Evil Days

The evil days have come, the poor     Are made a prey;     Bar up the hospitable door,     Put out the fire-lights, point no more     The wanderer's way.     For Pity now is crime; the chain     Which binds our States     Is melted at her hearth in twain,     Is rusted by her tears' soft rain:     Close up her gates.     Our Union, like a glacier stirred     By voice below,     Or bell of kine, or wing of bird,     A beggar's crust, a kindly word     May overthrow!     Poor, whispering tremblers! yet we boast     Our blood and name;     Bursting its century-bolted frost,     Each gray cairn on the Northman's coast     Cries out for shame!     Oh for the open firmament,     The prairie free,     The desert hillside, cavern-rent,     The Pawnee's lodge, the Arab's tent,     The Bushman's tree!     Than web of Persian loom most rare,     Or soft divan,     Better the rough rock, bleak and bare,     Or hollow tree, which man may share     With suffering man.     I hear a voice: "Thus saith the Law,     Let Love be dumb;     Clasping her liberal hands in awe,     Let sweet-lipped Charity withdraw     From hearth and home."'     I hear another voice: "The poor     Are thine to feed;     Turn not the outcast from thy door,     Nor give to bonds and wrong once more     Whom God hath freed."     Dear Lord! between that law and Thee     No choice remains;     Yet not untrue to man's decree,     Though spurning its rewards, is he     Who bears its pains.     Not mine Sedition's trumpet-blast     And threatening word;     I read the lesson of the Past,     That firm endurance wins at last     More than the sword.     O clear-eyed Faith, and Patience thou     So calm and strong!     Lend strength to weakness, teach us how     The sleepless eyes of God look through     This night of wrong