Poems (Ford)/Our Mourning Motherland
OUR MOURNING MOTHERLAND.
With heavy heart sad Erin,
Beside the rolling main,
Like Niobe, sits mourning
Above her children slain;
She sees them fall around her,
As by the moaning blast
The russet leaves of Autumn
To earth's cold breast are cast.
Beside the rolling main,
Like Niobe, sits mourning
Above her children slain;
She sees them fall around her,
As by the moaning blast
The russet leaves of Autumn
To earth's cold breast are cast.
She saw the yellow harvest
Rise o'er the smiling land—
The bursting sheaves were gathered
By careful reaper's hand.
Not to reward the toilers
There golden plenty waves—
To them our land can only
Give chains and famine graves.
Rise o'er the smiling land—
The bursting sheaves were gathered
By careful reaper's hand.
Not to reward the toilers
There golden plenty waves—
To them our land can only
Give chains and famine graves.
Strong arms that find no labor,
Now weak and nerveless fall—
Arms that might wield a sabre
To break the Nation's thrall;
Far better to die striving
In Freedom's holy cause,
Than perish, unresisting,
By cruel, blood-stained laws.
Now weak and nerveless fall—
Arms that might wield a sabre
To break the Nation's thrall;
Far better to die striving
In Freedom's holy cause,
Than perish, unresisting,
By cruel, blood-stained laws.
The infant's cheek, once rosy,
Is sunken, cold and pale;
In vain the stricken mother
To hush its piteous wail
Essays with song to soothe it—
The drear, death-burdened air
Gives forth but hopeless moanings
Of anguish and despair.
Is sunken, cold and pale;
In vain the stricken mother
To hush its piteous wail
Essays with song to soothe it—
The drear, death-burdened air
Gives forth but hopeless moanings
Of anguish and despair.
The merry laugh of childhood
Rings round the hearth no more;
The aged tell no stories
Of deeds and days of yore;
In hopeless desolation
All sit while Death's cold hand
His sable pall is folding
Around that hapless land.
Rings round the hearth no more;
The aged tell no stories
Of deeds and days of yore;
In hopeless desolation
All sit while Death's cold hand
His sable pall is folding
Around that hapless land.
Great Lord of power and glory,
How long shall such things be?
How long shall tyrants trample
The hearts that would be free?
In life-blood quench the sunlight
That gilds our glorious sky?
Rend from defenceless bodies
The souls they can not buy?
How long shall such things be?
How long shall tyrants trample
The hearts that would be free?
In life-blood quench the sunlight
That gilds our glorious sky?
Rend from defenceless bodies
The souls they can not buy?
How long shall we list coldly
Our dying brothers' moan?
Yes, brothers, though their faces
Perhaps we ne'er have known;
Our motherland is praying
Her children o'er the main
To aid her in her sorrow—
Let not her prayers be vain.
Our dying brothers' moan?
Yes, brothers, though their faces
Perhaps we ne'er have known;
Our motherland is praying
Her children o'er the main
To aid her in her sorrow—
Let not her prayers be vain.
Divide your scanty earnings,
Give from your hoarded gold;
As Joseph saved his people
In Egypt's land of old,
Save ye your suffering kindred—
Stretch forth a helping hand
To shield from utter ruin
Our famine-stricken land.
Give from your hoarded gold;
As Joseph saved his people
In Egypt's land of old,
Save ye your suffering kindred—
Stretch forth a helping hand
To shield from utter ruin
Our famine-stricken land.
Hope for a glorious dawning
Beyond this night of gloom,
For Justice dwells in heaven,
And yet to earth shall come;
Soon Freedom's voice shall silence
Our mourning Nation's wail—
Though Might awhile be master,
Right shall at last prevail.
Beyond this night of gloom,
For Justice dwells in heaven,
And yet to earth shall come;
Soon Freedom's voice shall silence
Our mourning Nation's wail—
Though Might awhile be master,
Right shall at last prevail.
When strong right hands of freemen
In characters sublime
Shall write the doom of tyrants
Upon the wall of time,
'T were needless, haughty Britain,
Thy crafty seers to call;
The words of light thus written
Shall then be read by all.
In characters sublime
Shall write the doom of tyrants
Upon the wall of time,
'T were needless, haughty Britain,
Thy crafty seers to call;
The words of light thus written
Shall then be read by all.
Base Babylon of nations,
How great thy fall shall be;
Intolerant in power,
How few shall mourn for thee;
While o'er thy crumbling ruins
The raven flaps its wing,
A pæan rescued Erin
Above thy grave shall sing.
How great thy fall shall be;
Intolerant in power,
How few shall mourn for thee;
While o'er thy crumbling ruins
The raven flaps its wing,
A pæan rescued Erin
Above thy grave shall sing.
1862.