Analysis of Democracy
John Greenleaf Whittier 1807 (Haverhill) – 1892 (Hampton Falls)
BEARER of Freedom's holy light,
Breaker of Slavery's chain and rod,
The foe of all which pains the sight,
Or wounds the generous ear of God!
Beautiful yet thy temples rise,
Though there profaning gifts are thrown;
And fires unkindled of the skies
Are glaring round thy altar-stone.
Still sacred, though thy name be breathed
By those whose hearts thy truth deride;
And garlands, plucked from thee, are wreathed
Around the haughty brows of Pride.
Oh, ideal of my boyhood's time!
The faith in which my father stood,
Even when the sons of Lust and Crime
Had stained thy peaceful courts with blood!
Still to those courts my footsteps turn,
For through the mists which darken there,
I see the flame of Freedom burn, —
The Kebla of the patriot's prayer!
The generous feeling, pure and warm,
Which owns the right of all divine;
The pitying heart, the helping arm,
The prompt self-sacrifice, are thine.
Beneath thy broad, impartial eye,
How fade the lines of caste and birth!
How equal in their suffering lie
The groaning multides of earth!
Still to a stricken brother true,
Whatever clime hath nurtured him;
As stooped to heal the wounded Jew
The worshipper of Gerizim.
By misery unrepelled, unawed
By pomp or power, thou seest a Man
In prince or peasant, slave or lord,
Pale priest, or swarthy artisan.
Through all disguise, form, place, or name,
Beneath the flaunting robes of sin,
Through poverty and squalid shame,
Thou lookest on the man within.
On man, as man, retaining yet,
Howe'er debased, and soiled, and dim,
The crown upon his forehead set,
The immortal gift of God to him.
And there is reverence in thy look;
For that frail form which mortals wear
The Spirit of the Holiest took,
And veiled His perfect brightness there.
Not from the shallow babbling fount
Of vain philosophy thou art;
He who of old on Syria's Mount
Thrilled, warmed, by turns, the listener's heart,
In holy words which cannot die,
In thoughts which angels leaned to know,
Proclaimed thy message from on high,
Thy mission to a world of woe.
That voice's echo hath not died!
From the blue lake of Galilee,
And Tabor's lonely mountain-side,
It calls a struggling world to thee.
Thy name and watchword o'er this land
I hear in every breeze that stirs,
And round a thousand altars stand
Thy banded party worshippers.
Not to these altars of a day,
At party's call, my gift I bring;
But on thy olden shrine I lay
A freeman's dearest offering:
The voiceless utterance of his will, —
His pledge to Freedom and to Truth,
That manhood's heart remembers still
The homage of his generous youth.
Scheme | ABABCDCDEFAFGHGIJKJKLMNMOPOPQRQGASTUVWVWXRXRYKYKAZ1 ZO2 O2 F3 F3 4 5 4 5 6 7 6 7 8 9 8 9 |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 10110101 1011101 01111101 110100111 10011101 111111 0101101 11011101 11011111 11111101 0111111 01010111 1011111 01011101 101011101 11110111 1111111 11011101 11011101 01101001 010010101 11011101 010010101 0111011 01110101 11011101 110011001 010111 11010101 1011101 11110101 0111 110011 111101101 01110111 11110100 11011111 01010111 11000101 1110101 11110101 10010101 01011101 001011111 011100011 11111101 010101001 01101101 110101001 11010011 111111001 1111011 01011101 01110111 01110111 11010111 11010111 1011110 01010101 110100111 11011011 110100111 01010101 11010100 11110101 11011111 11110111 01010100 010100111 11110011 1110101 010111001 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,495 |
Words | 450 |
Sentences | 20 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 72 |
Lines Amount | 72 |
Letters per line (avg) | 28 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 2,009 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 448 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:19 min read
- 107 Views
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"Democracy" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 8 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/22883/democracy>.
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