OUR FREEDOM by C. M. Snow

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jul 2, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 34.

OUR FREEDOM.

By C. M. Snow

BY C. M. SNOW.

Long years ago, when this fair land was young, Her birth-notes of freedom we tremblingly sung; But she grew with the years as they hastened along, And the wide world applauded her fetterless song. The dove-brood of peace fluttered forth from their nest In the rusty old cannon's now passionless breast; And the sycamore tree closed her rough, ragged wound, That the death-scars of war might no longer be found. The peace of the nation, the freedom of men, Was the rare golden fleece they were seeking for then. But alas the sad day when in pastures of peace They poison the shepherd who bought their release! What means this harsh clanking that startles my pen? 'Tis the shackling of souls in the mandates of men. 'Tis the padlock and bolt on the door of the mind, While the word and the thought writhe in irons behind. But let the tomb close o'er our vision of right; Let the night guards be doubled, the stone be rolled tight. As wide as the birth-notes of Freedom were sung Let the funeral bells of her burial be rung. We know there is dawning that long-looked-for day When the night guards will tremble, the stone roll away. Then the King in his glory transcendent appears; Ah, this is the freedom that pays for the tears!