| |
| SOLDIER of Justice—fighting with her sword | |
| Since thine was broken! Who need now despair | |
| To lead a hope forlorn against the throng? | |
| For what did David dare | |
| Before Goliath worthy this compare— | 5 |
| Thou in the darkness fronting leagued wrong? | |
| What true and fainting cause shall not be heir | |
| Of all thy courage—more than miser’s hoard? | |
| |
| In times remote, when some preposterous ill | |
| Man has not yet imagined, shall be King, | 10 |
| While comfortable Freedom nods— | |
| And Three shall meet to slay the usurping thing, | |
| Thy name recalled shall clinch their potent will, | |
| And as they cry, “He won—what greater odds!” | |
| They shall become as gods. | 15 |
* * * * * Ours, too, thy champions! Who shall dare to say | |
| The sordid time doth lack of chivalry. | |
| When men thus all renounce, all cast away, | |
| To walk with martyrs through a flaming sea! | |
| Picquart!—how jealously will Life patrol | 20 |
| The paths of peril whither he is sent. | |
| Zola!—too early gone! | |
| Whose taking even Death might well repent, | |
| Though ’twas to enrich that greater Pantheon | |
| Where dwell the spirits of the brave of soul. | 25 |
* * * * *
ENVOI Oh! tremble, all oppressors, where ye be— | |
| Throne, Senate, mansion, mart, or factory; | |
| One against many, many against few! | |
| Ye poor, once crushed, that crush your own anew; | |
| Ye vulgar rich, now risen from the mud, | 30 |
| Despoilers of the flower in the bud: | |
| For justice is the orbit of God’s day, | |
| And He hath promised that He will repay. | |
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