WHEN arms and numbers both have failed To make the hunted patriot yield, Nor proffered riches have prevailed To tempt him to forsake the field, By spite and baffled rage beguiled, Strike at his mother and his child. O land where freedom loved to dwell, Which shook'st the despot on his throne, And o'er the beating floods of hell Hope's beacon to the world hast shown, How art thou fallen from thy place! O thing of shame! -- O foul disgrace! Thy home was built upon the height Above the murky clouds beneath, In the blue heaven's freest light, Thy sword flashed ever from its sheath, The weak and the oppressed to save -- To smite the tyrant -- free the slave. Thy place was glorious -- sublime. What devil tempts thee to descend To conquest, robbery and crime? O shameful fate! Is this the end? Thy hands have now the damning stain Of human blood -- for love of gain. With weak hypocrisy's thin veil, Seek not in vain to blind thine eyes; Nor shall deceitful prayers prevail. Pray not -- for fear the dead should rise From 'neath their conquered country's sod And cry against thee unto God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE LEAVES by HAYDEN CARRUTH ABOVE AND WITHIN by DAVID IGNATOW BEAUTY THAT IS NEVER OLD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE AWAKENING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE FEAST OF LIGHTS by EMMA LAZARUS LOVE IN BLACK AND WHITE by KAREN SWENSON |