Friday Poetry Blogging: I'm sorry John edition

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A couple editions ago I made fun of John Greenleaf Whittier, after whom my mother's high school was named for crying out loud. This was not right. I mean, the guy generally wouldn't know meter if he passed it on the street, but he was a huge lefty (relative to the time), a Quaker and labor and abolition advocate. So, here's one of his best:

A Moral Warfare - John Greenleaf Whittier

When Freedom, on her natal day,
Within her war-rocked cradle lay,
An iron race around her stood,
Baptized her infant brow in blood;
And, through the storm which round her swept,
Their constant ward and watching kept.

Then, where our quiet herds repose,
The roar of baleful battle rose,
And brethren of a common tongue
To mortal strife as tigers sprung,
And every gift on Freedom's shrine
Was man for beast, and blood for wine!

Our fathers to their graves have gone;
Their strife is past, their triumph won;
But sterner trials wait the race
Which rises in their honored place;
A moral warfare with the crime
And folly of an evil time.

So let it be. In God's own might
We gird us for the coming fight,
And, strong in Him whose cause is ours
In conflict with unholy powers,
We grasp the weapons He has given,--
The Light, and Truth, and Love of Heaven.

Right-wing fundies who think Whittier's talking to them are encouraged to read the poem again.