You drive your beasts of burden forth to
drink?
You herd your oxen, each one in his stall?
You whip and goad until they heed your call?
You own, and use? Are these your cattle?
Think!
Although the while they cringe to you and
shrink.
And watch their fate in your least finger fall,
Mistake not, lest they rise and ravage all,
And your vast piled-up power to chaos sink!
The earthquake gives slight time to ward its
shock;
But racks the earth, nor warns of where or
when;
The hurricane that makes the city rock,
Speaks not with previous voice unto your ken;
Vesuvius and Aetna horror mock,
And tidal waves. Think: These you crush are
Men!

[To the Enemies of Free Speech]

As well to lay your hands upon the sun
And try with bonds to bind the morning light,
As well on the four winds to spend your might,
As well to strive against the streams that run;
As well to bar the seasons, bid be done
The rain which falls; as well to blindly fight
Against the air, and at your folly's height
Aspire to make all power that is none.
As well to do this as to impeach
Man's tongue, and bid it answer to the schools;
As well to do all this, as give us rules.
And bid us hold our words within your reach;
As well as this, as try to chain man's speech.
So others learned before ye lived, O fools!

[Magdalene Passes]

What one is this, that bears the band of
shame within her breast,
And wanders through the mocking land, denied
a place of rest?
What one is this, your hue and cry pursue
with withering hate,
Until her best hope is to die, nor meet a
harder fate?
This, this is she who hides her head in shame
to gloom the sun;
Who waits, as in their graves the dead, until
the day is done;
Whose tasks make pitiful the dark, and dreadful
all the night,
And leave her spirit striken stark and crushed
at morning light.
Beneath the shadows of silk and lace her form
is spare and shrunk,
And through the rogue upon her face see how
her cheeks have sunk,
Her lightsome laugh hides not her thought;
her brow is scarred with care.
And her flashing rings with jewels wrought,
but gild and grace despair.
Has she no tears to weep for grief, no voice to
cry with woe,
No memories panged beyond belief for joys
of long ago,
Has she no tortured dreams to smart, no anguish
for her brow,
Has she no broken bleeding heart, that you
must curse her now?
Is here no innocence o'erthrown, no wrecked
sweet maidenhood,
No sense of loss, like heavy stone, to make her
doubt all good?
Are here no women's ruined charms, no dead
and withering breasts?
Are here no hapless, vacant arms, which
should lull babes to rest?
And what are you, who at her gird, and deem
yourselves unstained;
Do you forget your black false word, the righteous
act disdain,
Your lust of power, the debtors tears, cold
hunger's starving cries,
And all the evil of your years, that clamors
to the skies!
Your horror is a vail to wear and cover o'er
your deeds;
Your wrongs are pointed at you there, though
none your presence heeds.
Your vileness would itself deny in falsest hate
of hers;
Gaze at yourself with inward eye, you whited
sepulchers!
Repent! Your vanity betrays, and wrenches
reason strong,
Until it wraps the truth to ways which shape
a right of wrong;
But every sin is still a sin; and if your hands
be shriven,
Her heart is no more black within, and she
shall be forgiven.
You ask not where those siren lips learned
their unworthy skill,
Nor reck of how shame's black eclipse obscured
her purer will.
You think not whence fair thoughts like
flowers gave room to passions low;
You know not of her girlhood's hours; you
do not care to know.
Nay! But the truth cries for the light, and
struggles to be heard;
The story of her bruise and blight shall out
in burning word—
Yours was the power which crushed that
grace and gave it to despair,
And the mask of beauty on that face, your
hands have painted there!
She was the temple of your lust, the altar of
your greed;
The sacrifice of faith and trust you made with
careful heed.
She was the price of pleasure's worth, the
weight against your gold,
Where love and truth repine in dearth, and all
is bought and sold.
And will you loathe your work at last, and
spurn her with disgust?
And shall your pride blot out the past and
hide her murdered trust?
And will you brand upon her brow the deeds
which she doth do?
Speak; Will you dare to hate her now, who
weeps, and pardons you?
Nay, more scoff to see her sink, nor laugh
upon her tears;
You shall not hand hate's baneful drink, and
mock her with your jeers.
Bow down and hide your head for shame, and
for your acts atone,
Accept your guilt; abide your blame; nor cast
a single stone.
And crimson sin shall balance sin, and none
shall be denied,
Till every heart is soft within and humbled
in its pride.
And each with each shall equal stand, and all
be one in worth,
Till every hand shall clasp a hand and love
shall fill the earth.

[The Red Flag]

Banner of crimson waving there,
Thou shalt have full homage from me;
First among flags thou gleamest fair,
Symbol of love and of life made free.
The nations have chosen standards of state
To flaunt to the winds since time began;
Emblems of rivalry, pride and hate;
But thou are the flag of the world, of Man.
Red as the blood of freedom's dead,
Thy hues might well have flowed from their veins.
Red as the one blood of man is red,
Holy thou art in thy sanguine stains.
Holy as truth and holy as right;
Sacred as wisdom and sacred as love;
Worthy the rapture that lifted to light
Thy glorious shape where it ripples above.
Unto the spirit of friendliness
Thou was fashioned, to comfort man's hungry thought;
To shine for the deeds that alone can bless,
And the life of brotherhood nobly wrought
Unto the spirit that rends the gyves
And shatters the bonds that make men slaves;
The spirit that suffers and sinks and strives.
Till it strengthens hope, till it lifts and saves.
Thou art no new thing; thou hast waved from of old.
Thou hast seen the day be born from the night;
And hast streamed for truth where the truth was bold
As time fled on to the future's light.
Beyond all the seas, on many a shore,
Thou hast buttressed the heart and stiffened the hand
To struggle for fellowship o're and o're,
From the youth to the age of the eldest land.
Thou hast called to battle! Yea, thou hast led
Where men have followed, forgetting fears
And hast solaced the dying and graced the dead,
Stained with blood and with dust and tears
—Blood, a full tribute paid for peace;
Tears shed free o're humanity's wrongs,
With faith in thy cause, that could never cease,
Met tyranny's swords, and fell, singing thy songs.
As thou art loved, thou art loathed, full well;
Loathed and cursed by the lords of power.
Ever they name thee the flag of hell,
And rage in the fear of thy triumph hour.
But their grasp grows week on the wills of men;
Their armies falter; their guns are rust;
As from prison, and labor of poverty's den
Thy hosts speak NO to their crumbling lust.
See! Now there greet the ten million eyes,
And lips uncounted smile to thy red.
Yes, those who bow to thy crimson dyes,
Are myriads more than all of thy dead.
Lo! The young clap hands at thy bright unrest;
And the child in arms it leaps in its glee.
Nay, babes unborn, 'neath the mother's breast
And given and pledged to thy cause and to thee!
Banner of freedom and freedom's peace.
Float in thy beauty, in sign of the day
When ravage of power and conquest shall cease,
And mouldering tyranny pass away.
Who would not all for thy promise give?
As I gaze on the fools, one wish have I—
To love thee and honor thee while I live,
And fold thee around me when I must die!