Anti-slavery poems : songs of labor and reform / by John Greenleaf Whittier [electronic text]
About this Item
Title
Anti-slavery poems : songs of labor and reform / by John Greenleaf Whittier [electronic text]
Author
Whittier, John Greanleaf, 1807-1892
Publication
[New York, N.Y.]: Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
1888
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The University of Michigan Library provides access to these materials for educational and research purposes. These materials are in the public domain in the United States. If you have questions about the collection please contact Digital Content & Collections at dlps-help@umich.edu, or if you have concerns about the inclusion of an item in this collection, please contact Library Information Technology at LibraryIT-info@umich.edu.
"Anti-slavery poems : songs of labor and reform / by John Greenleaf Whittier [electronic text]." In the digital collection American Verse Project. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/BAE0044.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 28, 2024.
Pages
THE SHIP-BUILDERS.
THE sky is ruddy in the east,The earth is gray below,And, spectral in the river-mist,The ship's white timbers show.Then let the sounds of measured strokeAnd grating saw begin;The broad-axe to the gnarlëd oak,The mallet to the pin!
Hark! roars the bellows, blast on blast,The sooty smithy jars,And fire-sparks, rising far and fast,Are fading with the stars.All day for us the smith shall standBeside that flashing forge;All day for us his heavy handThe groaning anvil scourge.
From far-off hills, the panting teamFor us is toiling near;For us the raftsmen down the streamTheir island barges steer.Rings out for us the axe-man's strokeIn forests old and still;For us the century-circled oakFalls crashing down his hill.
Up! up! in nobler toil than oursNo craftsmen bear a part:We make of Nature's giant powersThe slaves of human Art.
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Lay rib to rib and beam to beam,And drive the treenails free;Nor faithless joint nor yawning seamShall tempt the searching sea!
Where'er the keel of our good shipThe sea's rough field shall plough;Where'er her tossing spars shall dripWith salt-spray caught below;That ship must heed her master's beck,Her helm obey his hand,And seamen tread her reeling deckAs if they trod the land.
Her oaken ribs the vulture-beakOf Northern ice may peel;The sunken rock and coral peakMay grate along her keel;And know we well the painted shellWe give to wind and wave,Must float, the sailor's citadel,Or sink, the sailor's grave!
Ho! strike away the bars and blocks,And set the good ship free!Why lingers on these dusty rocksThe young bride of the sea?Look! how she moves adown the grooves,In graceful beauty now!How lowly on the breast she lovesSinks down her virgin prow!
God bless-her! wheresoe'er the breeze Her snowy wing shall fan,
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Aside the frozen Hebrides,Or sultry Hindostan!Where'er, in mart or on the main,With peaceful flag unfurled,She helps to wind the silken chainOf commerce round the world!
Speed on the ship! But let her bearNo merchandise of sin,No groaning cargo of despairHer roomy hold within;No Lethean drug for Eastern lands,For poison-draught for ours;But honest fruits of toiling handsAnd Nature's sun and showers.
Be hers the Prairie's golden grain,The Desert's golden sand,The clustered fruits of sunny Spain,The spice of Morning-land!Her pathway on the open mainMay blessings follow free,And glad hearts welcome back againHer white sails from the sea!
1846.
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