A weapon that comes down as still As snowflakes fall upon the sod; But executes a freeman’s will, As lightning does the will of God.
Collection:
The Ballot
More from Poet
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“To fall on the battle-field fighting for my dear country,—that would not be hard.”—The Neighbors. O NO, no,—let me lie Not on a field of battle when I die! Let not the iron tread Of the mad war-horse crush my helmèd head; Nor let the reeking knife, That I have drawn against...
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STAND! 1 the ground ’s your own, my braves! Will ye give it up to slaves? Will ye look for greener graves? Hope ye mercy still? What ’s the mercy despots feel? Hear it in that battle-peal! Read it on yon bristling steel! Ask it,—ye who will. Fear ye foes who kill for hire? Will ye to...
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Was it the chime of a tiny bell That came so sweet to my dreaming ear, Like the silvery tones of a fairy’s shell That he winds, on the beach, so mellow and clear, When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, And the Moon and the Fairy are watching the deep, She dispensing her silvery...
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I Cannot make him dead! His fair sunshiny head Is ever bounding round my study chair; Yet when my eyes, now dim With tears, I turn to him, The vision vanishes,—he is not there! I walk my parlor floor, And, through the open door, I hear a footfall on the chamber stair...
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A National Portrait THE YANKEE boy, before he ’s sent to school, Well knows the mysteries of that magic tool, The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye Turns, while he hears his mother’s lullaby; His hoarded cents he gladly gives to get it, Then leaves no stone unturned till he can whet it; And...