Proper Lesson for Charles's Martyrdom, to Dixwell

There are whose hand can hurl the shafts of song
Athwart wide oceans; barb'd with burning light
Do they dispell all mists Time throws around,
And where they fall men build the beacon-tower
And watch the cresset, age succeeding age.
Dixwell! whose name sounds highest toward heaven
Of all but one the fresher earth hath seen,
Honour to thee! and everlasting praise!
Thou shrankest not at smiting Perjury
Under the crown: thou shrankest not at rocks
And shoals and ice-tower'd firths, and solitudes
And caverns where the hunter hunted man,
Remote from birthplace, kindred, comrade, friend.
Of seed like thine sprang Freedom strong and arm'd,
Whose empire shall extend beyond the shore
Where Montezuma's plumed head lies low,
(A shore whose waters waft the name of Peace)
To realms more ancient than all realms beside,
Where the sun rises over far Cathay.
Blest be thy country! blest in sons like thine!
If lust of gold forbids it . . if the slave
Raises his manacle and pleads to Cod
And they who see and hear it mock the prayer,
At least shall thousands in my words exclaim
" Honour to thee! and everlasting praise!
Happy beyond all glory's happiness,
Look down on thy young nation; there alone
The weak and the distorted from the womb
Never are dandled into frowardness,
Never may seize and fracture what they list,
Striking at random stern and mild alike;
Nor floats the chaff above, nor sinks the grain."