Come Anything, If But the Slave Go Free
Dublin Core
Title
Come Anything, If But the Slave Go Free
Description
Rage War, thou scourge, attended dire,
Pour on our land thy hottest ire,
Make Egypt's fields a smouldering waste,
Where Famine howls o'er wealth displaced,
Her first born sons in death lay low,
Make fount and stream with blood o'erflow,
In every vessel give us gore,
Let wailing rise at every door,
God's will be done; content we'll share
The worst our guilty land may bear,
Yet Heaven avert the sacrifice,
If less, if milder means suffice.
Come, Peace, descend, and break the sword,
Join every state in sweet accord,
Pour on our land thy hottest ire,
If but the slave go free.
Make Egypt's fields a smouldering waste,
Where Famine howls o'er wealth displaced,
If but the slave go free.
Her first born sons in death lay low,
Make fount and stream with blood o'erflow,
If but the slave go free.
In every vessel give us gore,
Let wailing rise at every door,
If but the slave go free.
God's will be done; content we'll share
The worst our guilty land may bear,
If but the slave go free.
Yet Heaven avert the sacrifice,
If less, if milder means suffice.
To let the slave go free.
Come, Peace, descend, and break the sword,
Join every state in sweet accord,
If but the slave go free.
Creator
A.P. Smith
Source
1:32, p. 4
Date
3.8.1862
Contributor
From the Atlantic Monthly
Collection
Citation
A.P. Smith, “Come Anything, If But the Slave Go Free,” Periodical Poets, accessed May 3, 2024, https://periodicalpoets.com/items/show/758.
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