I am grim Labor, I who boldly stand And over God's brown acres raise my hand. Tyrants, ye heard the marching of my feet Down through all time towards the oppressor's seat; Ye tremble when before your face I raise My hands all grimy with the forge's blaze. My heralds shout upon the hills afar; The firmament is shaken by the star Of despots hurled from heaven into the sea. No longer shall the winds of vengeance be Held back by angels lest they hurt the earth; The vials are full,—the hour is come to birth. Masters, ye shudder at the nearing roar Of angry waves that break upon your shore. Each drop of that tumultuous sea is mine. Behold, that sea reflects the face divine! The people are the sea; athwart your path They surge before God's tidal breath of wrath. Across the raging of the storm I hear The angels of the new life coming near; Their trumpets sound above the tempest's roar: "The toilers' bands are loosed forevermore." And I, grim Labor, I shall wear the crown Which kings and priests in terror will cast down | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAIRY TALE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE CHANGED WOMAN by LOUISE BOGAN |