Poetry: The Warning

It sball not always be! The air broathes vvliere t wil.l; the wind Is chiinless, and the storm 8 frec, Shall chains enthral the mindt Creation owns no slave, and man, Shall Mas bend low to scourge and ban, And shake, and suffer, and be still? It shnll not always be - Ariee he must - and will! It Bhal! not always be! Awliüf: he vet may venr the cliain In silence, like the northern sea 'Mid winter's sunlesa reign; Awhile heyet may bow liim down To Power's red scourge and Pride'e dark frosvn And toil. and weep, and be a slave; Ii thall not always be - The storm unchains the wave. It flhall not always be! The lightning smculders in itsmine, The tbunder sleeps as-yet - but I8'there no tempest sign? Ha! tyrant. see! and sheathc thy brandt Strike fetter ofT, from heart and hand! Nor crush God's image in thy path, It shall not ahvays be - jie just - or brave his wrath!