"Good Master Frog, a battle is fought, And the foeman's power is broke."But he only turned a greener hue, And answered with a croak.
Croak, croak, croak, When the clouds are dark and dun, And croak, croak, croak, In the blaze of the noontide sun.
"Good Master Frog, the forces of right Are driving the hosts of wrong."But he gave his head an ominous shake, And croaked out, "Nous verrons!"Croak, croak, croak, Till the heart is full of gloom, And croak, croak, croak, Till the world seems but a tomb.
To poison the cup of life, By always dreading the worst.
Is to make of the earth a dungeon damp, And the happiest life accursed.
Croak, croak, croak, When the noontide sun rides high, And croak, croak, croak, Lest the night come by and by.
Farewell to the dismal frog;
Let him croak as loud as he may, He cannot blot the sun from heaven, Nor hinder the march of day, Though he croak, croak, croak, Till the heart is full of gloom, And croak, croak, croak, Till the world seems but a tomb.
KING COTTON.
KING COTTON looks from his window Towards the westering sun, And he marks, with an anguished horror, That his race is almost run.
His form is thin and shrunken;
His cheek is pale and wan;
And the lines of care on his furrowed brow Are dread to look upon.
But yesterday a monarch, In the flush of his pomp and pride, And, not content with his own broad lands, He would rule the world beside.
He built him a stately palace, With gold from beyond the sea;And he laid with care the corner-stone, And he called it Slavery:
He summoned an army with banners, To keep his foes at bay;And, gazing with pride on his palace walls, He said, "They will stand for aye!"But the palace walls are shrunken, And partly overthrown, And the storms of war, in their violence, Have loosened the corner-stone.
Now Famine stalks through the palace halls, With her gaunt and pallid train;You can hear the cries of famished men, As they cry for bread in vain.
The king can see, from his palace walls.
A land by his pride betrayed;
Thousands of mothers and wives bereft.
Thousands of graves new-made.
And he seems to see, in the lowering sky, The shape of a flaming sword;Whereon he reads, with a sinking heart, The anger of the Lord.
God speed the time when the guilty king Shall be hurled from his blood-stained throne;And the palace of Wrong shall crumble to dust, With its boasted corner-stone.
A temple of Freedom shall rise instead, On the desecrated site:
And within its shelter alike shall stand The black man and the white.
OUT OF EGYPT.
To Egypt's king, who ruled beside The reedy river's flow, Came God's command, "Release, O king, And let my people go."The king's proud heart grew hard apace;
He marked the suppliant throng, And said, "Nay, they must here abide;The weak must serve the strong."
Straightway the Lord stretched forth his hand, And every stream ran blood;The river swept towards the sea--
A full ensanguined flood.
The haughty king beheld the land, By plagues afflicted sore, But, as God's wonders multiplied, Hardened his heart the more;Until the angel of the Lord Came on the wings of Night, And smote first-born of man and beast, In his destructive flight.
Throughout all Egypt, not a house Was spared this crowning woe.
Then broke the tyrant's stubborn will;
He bade the people go.
They gathered up their flocks and herds, Rejoicing to be free;And, going forth, a mighty host, Encamped beside the sea.
Then Pharaoh's heart repented him;
He called a mighty force, And swiftly followed on their track, With chariot and with horse.
Then Israel's host were sore afraid;
But God was on their side, And, lo! for them a way is cleft, The Red-sea waves divide.
At God's command the restless waves Obey the prophet's rod;And, through the middle of the sea, The people marched dry-shod.
But, when the spoilers, following close, Would hinder Israel's flight, The waters to their course return, The parted waves unite, And Pharaoh's host is swept away, The chariots and the horse;And not a man is left alive Of all that mighty force.
So in these days God looks from heaven, And marks his servants' woe;Hear ye his voice: "Break every yoke, And let my people go!"For them the Red-sea waves divide, The streams with crimson flow;Therefore we mourn for our first-born;--
Then let the people go.
They are not weak whom God befriends, He makes their cause His own;And they who fight against God's might Shall surely be o'erthrown.
THE PRICE OF VICTORY.
"A VICTORY! --a victory!"
Is flashed across the wires;
Speed, speed the news from State to State, Light up the signal fires!
Let all the bells from all the towers A joyous peal ring out;We've gained a glorious victory, And put the foe to rout!
A mother heard the chiming bells;
Her joy was mixed with pain.
"Pray God," she said, "my gallant boy Be not among the slain!"Alas for her! that very hour Outstretched in death he lay, The color from his fair, young face Had scarcely passed away.
His nerveless hand still grasped the sword.
He never more might wield, His eyes were sealed in dreamless sleep Upon that bloody field.
The chestnut curls his mother oft Had stroked in fondest pride, Neglected hung ia clotted locks, With deepest crimson dyed.
Ah! many a mother's heart shall ache, And bleed with anguish sore, When tidings come of him who marched So blithely forth to war.
Oh! sad for them, the stricken down In manhood's early dawn, And sadder yet for loving hearts.
God comfort them that mourn!
Yes, victory has a fearful price Our hearts may shrink to pay, And tears will mingle with the joy That greets a glorious day.
But he who dies in freedom's cause, We cannot count him lost;A battle won for truth and right Is worth the blood it cost!
O mothers! count it something gained That they, for whom you mourn, Bequeath fair Freedom's heritage To millions yet unborn;--And better than a thousand years Of base, ignoble breath, A patriot's fragrant memory, A hero's early death!
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HARVARD ODES.
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