Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Copy
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420790" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Sentence Of John L. Brown</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ho! thou who seekest late and long<br>A License from the Holy Book<br>For brutal lust and fiendish wrong,<br>Man of the Pulpit, look!<br>Lift up those cold and atheist eyes,<br>This ripe fruit of thy teaching see;<br>And tell us how to heaven will rise<br>The incense of this sacrifice —<br>This blossom of the gallows tree!<br>Search out for slavery's hour of need<br>Some fitting text of sacred writ;<br>Give heaven the credit of deed<br>Which shames the nether pit.<br>Kneel, smooth blasphemer, unto Him<br>Whose truth is on thy lips a lie;<br>Ask that His bright winged cherubim<br>May bend around that scaffold grim<br>To guard and bless and sanctify.<br>O champion of the people's cause!<br>Suspend thy loud and vain rebuke<br>Of foreign wrong and Old World's laws,<br>Man of the Senate, look!<br>Was this the promise of the free,<br>The great hope of our early time,<br>That slavery's poison vine should be<br>Upborne by Freedom's prayer-nursed tree<br>O'erclustered with such fruits of crime?<br>Send out the summons East and West,<br>And South and North, let all be there<br>Where he who pitied the oppressed<br>Swings out in sun and air.<br>Let not a Democratic hand<br>The grisly hangman's task refuse;<br>There let each loyal patriot stand,<br>Awaiting slavery's command,<br>To twist the rope and draw the noose!<br>But vain is irony — unmeet<br>Its cold rebuke for deeds which start<br>In fiery and indignant beat<br>The pulses of the heart.<br>Leave studied wit and guarded phrase<br>For those who think but do not feel;<br>Let men speak out in words which raise<br>Where'er they fall, an answering blaze<br>Like flints which strike the fire from steel.<br>Still let a mousing priesthood ply<br>Their garbled text and gloss of sin,<br>And make the lettered scroll deny<br>Its living soul within:<br>Still let the place-fed, titled knave<br>Plead robbery's right with purchased lips,<br>And tell us that our fathers gave<br>For Freedom's pedestal, a slave,<br>The frieze and moulding, chains and whips!<br>But ye who own that Higher Law<br>Whose tablets in the heart are set,<br>Speak out in words of power and awe<br>That God is living yet!<br>Breathe forth once more those tones sublime<br>Which thrilled the burdened prophet's lyre,<br>And in a dark and evil time<br>Smote down on Israel's fast of crime<br>And gift of blood, a rain of fire!<br>Oh, not for us the graceful lay<br>To whose soft measures lightly move<br>The footsteps of the faun and fay,<br>O'er-locked by mirth and love!<br>But such a stern and startling strain<br>As Britain's hunted bards flung down<br>From Snowden to the conquered plain,<br>Where harshly clanked the Saxon chain,<br>On trampled field and smoking town.<br>By Liberty's dishonored name,<br>By man's lost hope and failing trust,<br>By words and deeds which bow with shame<br>Our foreheads to the dust,<br>By the exulting strangers' sneer,<br>Borne to us from the Old World's thrones,<br>And by their victims' grief who hear,<br>In sunless mines and dungeons drear,<br>How Freedom's land her faith disowns!<br>Speak out in acts. The time for words<br>Has passed, and deeds suffice alone;<br>In vain against the clang of swords<br>The wailing pipe is blown!<br>Act, act in God's name, while ye may!<br>Smite from the church her leprous limb!<br>Throw open to the light of day.<br>The bondman's cell, and break away<br>The chains the state has bound on him!<br>Ho! every true and living soul,<br>To Freedom's perilled altar bear<br>The Freeman's and the Christian's whole<br>Tongue, pen, and vote, and prayer!<br>One last, great battle for the right —<br>One short, sharp struggle to be free!<br>To do is to succeed — our fight<br>Is waged in Heaven's approving sight;<br>The smile of God is Victory.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420790" data-title="The Sentence Of John L. Brown de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="Ho! thou who seekest late and long A License from the Holy Book For brutal lust and fiendish wrong, Man of the Pulpit, look! Lift up those cold and atheist eyes, This ripe fruit of thy teaching see; And tell us how to heaven will rise The incense ..."></div> </div> </div>
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black