'Tis made of hard, death-tempered steel, This "right" of those that never feel; It gleams before their altars cold, The menace of the gods of gold. It hisses to the slave, "Be still!" Or wreaks assassination's will; It bears upon its blighting breath The message of the lords of death. In shadowed mine and silent wood, It stills the voice of brotherhood; It stains with grief the mother-face; It murders hope; it starves the race. It frightens girlhood down the night Where glows the baleful crimson light; It binds the chains on baby slaves, This death-tool in the hands of knaves. @3Listen, O My Masters!@1 Hear me, ye who "shoot to kill," It may not always wreak your will! Beware! Beware its rebel shriek— The message men to tyrants speak! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CARELESS GALLANT by THOMAS JORDAN ON SOME BUTTERCUPS by FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN THE DISMANTLED SHIP by WALT WHITMAN BLOOD ON THE WHEEL by ALEXANDER ANDERSON EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 32. THERE'S NO DEFENCE AGAINST LOVE by PHILIP AYRES ON THE BACKWARDNESS OF THE SPRING 1771 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD WOONE SMILE MWORE by WILLIAM BARNES |