Mene, Mene

This poem was written by Ellen Murray, a co-founder of the Penn School on St. Helena Island in South Carolina. The poem was originally published in the National Anti-Slavery Standard on March 22, 1862.

"God hath numbered....and finished it." - Daniel 5, 26

Mene! But this was not the word he wrote

Upon the whitened wall,

The word which filled with dread, condemning light

The Babylonian hall.

He traced a word of love, a name of power:

"Jesus," he turned to say,

And dark eyes drank it in as some new sun

Had risen on their way.

They saw that only he whose fingers wrote

The Name all names above,

And those who dwelt upon it, eeys and lips

With such awe of love,

There came no shadow to the Southern sky,

No presence on the air,

No terror to those loving hearts, and yet-

Was there no angel there?

Unseen, unthought of, writing on the wall,

A spirit hand moved slow,

And traced the Mene! Mene! Numbered! Done!

That holy name below.

And from the hour the Chaldean despot sank

In helplessness of fear,

Those words have ushered in the doom of wrong,

Foretold the Avenger near.

So is it now! Write: Mene, numbered, past,

Tyrant, thy time to reign,

Thou shalt lie low amid the multitude

By Right and Justice slain.

Who weeps thy downfall? Not thy timid slave,

Whose eyes with joy grow dim,

Not saints whose lips have changed the dying prayer

For heaven's Glory-hymn.

Mene! Repeat it. Numbered, finished, past,

Downtrodden race of woe,

Are your long years of bitter servitude

Beneath a South sun's glow;

Your god has numbered every grief you felt,

Has counted every prayer,

And in the fullness of the time comes down -

Ay, Mene! Write it there.

Mene! What is burden to the North?

God numbers back again

To us each woe we added to the slave,

Each rivet in his chain.

Finished, the honor of His forbearing grave,

Yet willingly we drink

The wrath cup of his justice which our sins

Are filling to the brink.

A farther meaning to that word: God counts

Each Northern martyr's grave,

Each lip that speaks His truth against ourselves,

Each heart-beat for the slave.

Finished! The sin, the shame. North hands shall make

Atonement for the wrong,

North lips shall sanctify their country's life

By Freedom's deathless song.

Ellen

Part of a series of articles titled
Poems by Ellen Murray.

Previous:
May We Pray?

Next:
Woman's Right

Where this belongs

• Reconstruction Era National Historical Park

Where this page came from

This page was imported from National Park Service. Produced by the U.S. National Park Service and, as a work of the United States government, in the public domain.

Nobody has written it yet — it is the source material at a new address, which is why search engines are asked to skip it and why no one earns from it. It is up for grabs: take it on, and it is yours to rewrite and to earn from.