SAINT PATRICK, slave to Milcho of the herds <br />Of Ballymena, wakened with these words: <br />'Arise, and flee <br />Out from the land of bondage, and be free!' <br />Glad as a soul in pain, who hears from heaven <br />The angels singing of his sins forgiven, <br />And, wondering, sees <br />His prison opening to their golden keys, <br />He rose a man who laid him down a slave, <br />Shook from his locks the ashes of the grave, <br />And outward trod <br />Into the glorious liberty of God. <br />He east the symbols of his shame away; <br />And, passing where the sleeping Milcho lay, <br />Though back and limb <br />Smarted with wrong, he prayed, 'God pardon him!' <br />So went he forth; but in God's time he came <br />To light on Uilline's hills a holy flame; <br />And, dying, gave <br />The land a saint that lost him as a slave. <br />O dark, sad millions, patiently and dumb <br />Waiting for God, your hour at last has come, <br />And freedom's song <br />Breaks the long silence of your night of wrong! <br />Arise and flee! shake off the vile restraint <br />Of ages; but, like Ballymena's saint, <br />The oppressor spare, <br />Heap only on his head the coals of prayer. <br />Go forth, like him! like him return again, <br />To bless the land whereon in bitter pain <br />Ye toiled at first, <br />And heal with freedom what your slavery cursed.<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-proclamation/
