Poems (Jones)/Richmond

by Amanda Theodosia Jones

RICHMOND. JULY, 1862.

RICHMOND, the summer that shines on thy towers
Will tremble and shudder and turn from her flowers,
Will creep over fields where our strong armies paused,
And die at the sight of the blood thou hast caused.
    Thou city of slaves,
For thee and thy sins earth is teeming with graves.

For thee and thy dark sins, O Richmond, beware,
Lest the dread wings of Pestilence move in the air;
Lest Famine thy strength and thy loveliness blight;
Lest the arm of Jehovah be lifted to smite:
    For never before
Such fair vines of promise such bitter fruit bore!

Death, death on the plains, in the vales, by the wave;
Death, ghastly and stiff without coffin or grave;
Death clutching the bayonet—grasping the gun—
And the heat of God's anger ablaze in the sun!
    O Richmond, beware!
They die who the wrath of Omnipotence dare.

But the white dove of mercy above thee still flies,
And the rain of fire dashes not down the veiled skies:
'Tis the lull, the long pause ere the vial is poured,
And the plagues are let loose that run after the sword.
    Midway the bolt stays:
Love waits for repentance, and Justice delays.

Sink down in the dust; own thy sins of the past;
Let the bondman go free in thy borders at last;
While the hill-sides resound with thy suppliant cry,
Peradventure the Lord God will hear and reply:
    If his grace thou deride
His arm will be lifted—then woe to thy pride!

For a voice from the "temple of Heaven" will call,—
"It is done! it is done!" and the judgment will fall;
And "voices and thunders" around thee will blend,
The fire will consume and the earthquake will rend:
    In the hurricane's path—
Thou shalt drink of the "wine of the fierceness of wrath!"

And lo! at thy gates there will fall a "great hail;"
Thy men will blaspheme and thy women bewail;
For the plague thereof great and exceeding will be:
But thy bondmen, O Richmond, shall rise and go free;
    And voices will cry,—
"The 'beast, scarlet-colored,' behold it must die!"