I break your bonds and masterships, Free be his heart and hand henceforth I cause from every creature But, lay hands on another To-day unbind the captive, Pay ransom to the owner And fill the bag to the brim. Who is the owner? The slave is owner, And ever was. Pay him. O North! give him beauty for rags, Up! and the dusky race And as behemoth strong. Come, East and West and North, And carry my purpose forth, Which neither halts nor shakes. 773 My will fulfilled shall be, For, in daylight or in dark, My thunderbolt has eyes to see HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW [1807-1882] A PSALM OF LIFE WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real! Life is earnest! Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Lives of great men all remind us Footprints, that perhaps another, Let us, then, be up and doing, 774 THE LIGHT OF STARS THE night is come, but not too soon; All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven And the first watch of night is given Is it the tender star of love? The star of love and dreams? And earnest thoughts within me rise, Suspended in the evening skies, O star of strength! I see thee stand Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light I felt her presence, by its spell of might, The calm, majestic presence of the Night, I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, From the cool cisterns of the midnight air The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,- O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, 776 FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, Wake the better soul, that slumbered, Ere the evening lamps are lighted, |