Classic Poem

They wait! Long, weary years have passed,
And Liberty seemed far:
Lo! bright upon their future path
Now beams the polar star.
God from on high his ear hath bowed,
His the Redeemer's power:
With reverent joy and holy hope,
They're “waiting for the hour.”

That hour! the bell of Liberty
May ring it out with joy,
When midnight stars shall sound it forth
In the “belfries of the sky.”
The hour of Freedom! well may he
Who holds Time's measure there
Intently on the hour-hand gaze,
Still “watching unto prayer.”

Long had his voice proclaimed the hope
The symbol-anchor tells;
And yet he listens, half afraid
To hear the chiming bells
Which tell that Freedom's hour hath dawned,
The long, sad night is o'er,
The chains and fetters, woe and sin,
Of slavery are no more.

Shout, friends of Liberty, aloud!
Shout with a mighty tone!
Sing, angels in the upper world,
A song of Freedom's own!
Now stripes and bondage are exchanged
For peace and quiet homes,
Where no slave-driver's voice is heard,
And never blood-hound comes.

O artist! on whose canvas glows
This picture grand and high,
Hast thou not won by work like this
The “Well done” of the sky?
And yet no pen can write the hopes,
No pencil paint the joy
In all its fulness, which they knew
To whom this hour was nigh.

They wait! yet while we look, the hour
Comes with its blissful freight:
Fling out the Stars and Stripes, a sign
They may no longer wait.
Shout Lincoln's name with blissful tears,
Pray for him day by day,
And, through all coming time, look back
With joy to “Sixty-three.”