Джеральд Масси (Gerald Massey)

The Three Voices

A WAILING voice comes up a desolate road,
                Drearily, drearily, drearily!
Where mankind have trodden the byeway of blood,
                Wearily, wearily, wearily!
Like a sound from the Dead Sea, all shrouded in glooms,
    With breaking of hearts, chains clanking, men
         groaning,
Or chorus of ravens, that croak among tombs,
    It comes with a mournful moaning:
                "Weep, weep, weep!"
            Yoke-fellows listen,
            Till tearful eyes glisten,
"Tis the voice of the Past: the dark, grim-featured Past,
All sad as the shriek of the midnight blast.
                "Weep, weep, weep!"
Tears to wash out the red, red stain,
            Where earth hath been fatted
            By brave hearts that rotted—
And life ran a deluge of hot, bloody rain,
                Weep, weep; weep!

There comes a voice too, from the millions that bend,
    Tearfully, tearfully, tearfully !
From hearts which the scourges of Slavery rend,
    Fearfully, fearfully, fearfully!
From many a worn, noble spirit, that breaks 
    In the world's solemn shadows, deep down in life's
        valleys
From Mine, Forge, and Loom, trumpet-tongued, it
        awakes
    On the soul wherein Liberty rallies.
                "Work, work, work!" 
            Yoke-fellows listen,
            Till earnest eyes glisten,
"Tis the voice of the Present—it bids us, my brothers,
Be freemen: and then, for the freedom of others—
                Work, work, work!
For the many, a holocaust, long to the few;
            O, work while ye may,
            O work while 'tis day,
And cling to each other, united and true,
                Work, work, work!

There cometh another voice, sweetest of all—
    Cheerily, cheerily, cheerily!
And the heart leapeth up to its trumpet call,
    Merrily, merrily, merrily!
It comes like the touch of the soft Spring, unwarping;
    The thrall of oppression that bound us:
It comes like a choir of the seraphim, harping,
Their gladsomest music around us.
                "Hope, hope, hope!"
            Yoke-follows listen,
            Till gleeful eyes glisten;
To the voice of the Future, the sweetest of all,
That makes the heart leap to its trumpet call.
                Hope, hope, hope!
Brothers, step forth in the Future's van,
            For the worst is past,
            Right conquers at last;
And a better day dawns upon suffering man:—
                Hope, hope, hope!

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