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John Greenleaf Whittier - The Peace Autumn
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THANK God for rest, where none molest,
And none can make afraid;
For Peace that sits as Plenty`s guest
Beneath the homestead shade!
Bring pike and gun, the sword`s red scourge,
The negro`s broken chains,
And beat them at the blacksmith`s forge
To ploughshares for our plains.
Alike henceforth our hills of snow,
And vales where cotton flowers;
All streams that flow, all winds that blow,
Are Freedom`s motive-powers.
Henceforth to Labor`s chivalry
Be knightly honors paid;
For nobler than the sword`s shall be
The sickle`s accolade.
Build up an altar to the Lord,
O grateful hearts of ours!
And shape it of the greenest sward
That ever drank the showers.
Lay all the bloom of gardens there,
And there the orchard fruits;
Bring golden grain from sun and air,
From earth her goodly roots.
There let our banners droop and flow,
The stars uprise and fall;
Our roll of martyrs, sad and slow,
Let sighing breezes call.
Their names let hands of horn and tan
And rough-shod feet applaud,
Who died to make the slave a man,
And link with toil reward.
There let the common heart keep time
To such an anthem sung
As never swelled on poet`s rhyme,
Or thrilled on singer`s tongue.
Song of our burden and relief,
Of peace and long annoy;
The passion of our mighty grief
And our exceeding joy!
A song of praise to Him who filled
The harvests sown in years,
And gave each field a double yield
To feed our battle-years!
A song of faith that trusts the end
To match the good begun,
Nor doubts the power of Love to blend
The hearts of men as one!
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