Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MAUL, by MARY E. NEALY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MAUL, by                    
First Line: I saw a boy in a black-jack wood
Last Line: Write half of its toil and glory.
Subject(s): Emancipation Movement & Proclamation; Lincoln, Abraham (1809-1865); Presidents, United States; Antislavery Movement - United States


THE MAUL

I SAW a boy in a black-jack wood,
With a tall, lank, awkward "figger,"
Striking away with his heavy maul,
By the side of a young slave "nigger."
And he said to himself, "I'll maul away,
And cleave a path before me:
I'll hew all black-jacks out of my way,
Till the Star of Fame shines o'er me."

I saw him again on a broad, swift stream,
But the maul this time was a paddle;
And I watched the tiny rainbows gleam
As he made the waves skedaddle.
And he said, "I'll paddle away, away,
Till space shall flee before me:
And yet shall I live to see the day
When the Star of Fame shines o'er me."

I saw him again with his musty books,
A-pondering Coke and Story:
And little there was in his homely looks
To tell of his future glory.
But he said, "I'll master, I know I will,
The difficult task before me:
I'll maul away through the hard world still,
Till the Star of Fame shines o'er me."

I saw him again, when he rose to cope,
Hand to hand, with the "Western Giant":
His eye lit up with a beam of hope,
On his sinewy strength reliant.
"I'll fight him," he said, "with the maul of Truth,
Till he shrink and quail before me;
Till he stand abashed in astonished ruth,
While the Star of Fame shines o'er me."

I saw him again in the White House chair,
A-writing the Proclamation:
And the pen he used was the heaviest maul
In this rail-mauling nation.
And he said, "Tis the only way to make
The traitors flee before us:
While the light it sheds will leave a wake
That will shine when the sod grows o'er us."

I saw him again but the other night,
And he shook my hand in greeting:
And little he thought how soon I'd write
And tell the world of our meeting.
The hand I clasped has swung the maul,
And my own has written its story.
But never, I ween, could any hand
Write half of its toil and glory.





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