Iron
As,
in
lonely
thought,
I
pondered
On
the
marv'lous
things
of
earth,
And,
in
fancy's
dreaming,
wondered
At
their
beauty,
power,
and
worth,
Came,
like
words
of
prayer,
the
feeling-
Oh!
that
God
would
make
me
know,
Through
the
spirit's
clear
revealing-
What,
of
all
his
works
below,
Is
to
man
a
boon
the
greatest,
Brightening
on
from
age
to
age,
Serving
truest,
earliest,
latest,
Through
the
world's
long
pilgrimage.
Soon
vast
mountains
rose
before
me,
Shaggy,
desolate
and
lone,
Their
scarred
heads
were
threat'ning
o'er
me,
Their
dark
shadows
round
me
thrown;
Then
a
voice,
from
out
the
mountains,
As
an
earthquake
shook
the
ground,
And
like
frightened
fawns
the
fountains,
Leaping,
fled
before
the
sound;
And
the
Anak
oaks
bowed
lowly,
Quivering,
aspen-like,
with
fear-
While
the
deep
response
came
slowly,
Or
it
must
have
crushed
mine
ear!
"Iron!
Iron!
Iron!"-crashing,
Like
the
battle-axe
and
shield;
Or
the
sword
on
helmet
clashing,
Through
a
bloody
battle-field:
"Iron!
Iron!
Iron!"-rolling,
Like
the
far-off
cannon's
boom;
Or
the
death-knell,
slowly
tolling,
Through
a
dungeon's
charnel
gloom!
"Iron!
Iron!
Iron!"-swinging,
Like
the
summer
winds
at
play;
Or
as
bells
of
Time
were
ringing
In
the
blest
Millennial
Day!
Then
the
clouds
of
ancient
fable
Cleared
away
before
mine
eyes;
Truth
could
tread
a
footing
stable
O'er
the
gulf
of
mysteries!
Words,
the
prophet
bards
had
uttered,
Signs,
the
oracle
foretold,
Spells,
the
weird-like
Sibyl
muttered,
Through
the
twilight
days
of
old,
Rightly
read,
beneath
the
splendor,
Shining
now
on
history's
page,
All
their
faithful
witness
render-
All
portend
a
better
age.
Sisyphus,
for
ever
toiling,
Was
the
type
of
toiling
men,
While
the
stone
of
power,
recoiling,
Crushed
them
back
to
earth
again!
Stern
Prometheus,
bound
and
bleeding,
Imaged
man
in
mental
chain,
While
the
vultures,
on
him
feeding,
Were
the
passions'
vengeful
reign;
Still
a
ray
of
mercy
tarried
On
the
cloud,
a
white-winged
dove,
For
this
mystic
faith
had
married
Vulcan
to
the
Queen
of
Love!
Rugged
strength
and
radiant
beauty-
These
were
one
in
nature's
plan;
Humble
toil
and
heavenward
duty-
These
will
form
the
perfect
man!
Darkly
was
this
doctrine
taught
us
By
the
gods
of
heathendom;
But
the
living
light
was
brought
us,
When
the
gospel
morn
had
come!
How
the
glorious
change,
expected,
Could
be
wrought,
was
then
made
free;
Of
the
earthly,
when
perfected,
Rugged
Iron
forms
the
key!
"Truth
from
out
the
earth
shall
flourish,"
This
the
Word
of
God
makes
known,-
Thence
are
harvests
men
to
nourish-
There
let
Iron's
power
be
shown.
Of
the
swords,
from
slaughter
gory,
Ploughshares
forge
to
break
the
soil;-
Then
will
Mind
attain
its
glory,
Then
will
Labor
reap
the
spoil,-
Error
cease
the
soul
to
wilder,
Crime
be
checked
by
simple
good,
As
the
little
coral
builder
Forces
back
the
furious
flood.
While
our
faith
in
good
grows
stronger,
Means
of
greater
good
increase;
Iron,
slave
of
war
no
longer,
Leads
the
onward
march
of
peace;
Still
new
modes
of
service
finding,
Ocean,
earth,
and
air
it
moves,
And
the
distant
nations
binding,
Like
the
kindred
tie
it
proves;
With
its
Atlas-shoulder
sharing
Loads
of
human
toil
and
care;
On
its
wing
of
lightning
bearing
Thought's
swift
mission
through
the
air!
As
the
rivers,
farthest
flowing,
In
the
highest
hills
have
birth;
As
the
banyan,
broadest
growing,
Oftenest
bows
its
head
to
earth,-
So
the
noblest
minds
press
onward,
Channels
far
of
good
to
trace;
So
the
largest
hearts
bend
downward,
Circling
all
the
human
race;
Thus,
by
Iron's
aid,
pursuing
Through
the
earth
their
plans
of
love,
Men
our
Father's
will
are
doing,
Here,
as
angels
do
above!
Sarah Josepha Hale
Sarah Josepha Hale was born on October 24th, 1788 in Newport, New Hampshire. Her parents were strong advocates for education of both sexes. Therefore, Hale was taught well beyond the normal age for a woman. Later, she married a lawyer David Hale, who supported her in all scholarly endeavors. Sadly, her husband died after only nine years of marriage, leaving Hale a widow with five children. She turned to poetry as a form of income. Her most famous book, titled Poems for Our Children included a beloved story from her childhood. “Mary Had a Little Lamb” was instantly a popular nursey rhyme.