Divide the clouds asunder.
Then there followed Washington.
Ah, he rode from glory,
Cold and mighty as his name
And stern as Freedom's story.
Unsubdued by burning dawn
Led his continentals.
Vast they were, and strange to see
In gray old regimentals: --
Marching still with bleeding feet,
Bleeding feet and jesting --
Marching from the judgment throne
With energy unresting.
How their merry quickstep played --
Silver, sharp, sonorous,
Piercing through with prophecy
The demons' rumbling chorus --
Behold the ancient powers of sin
And slavery before them! --
Sworn to stop the glorious dawn,
The pit-black clouds hung o'er them.
Plagues that rose to blast the day
Fiend and tiger faces,
Monsters plotting bloodshed for
The patient toiling races.
Round the dawn their cannon raged,
Hurling bolts of thunder,
Yet before our spangled flag
Their host was cut asunder.
Like a mist they fled away. . . .