Puslapio vaizdai
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Hark! through the crowd

The laugh runs loud,

Beneath the sad, rebuking moon.

God save the land

A careless hand

And o'er us bend,

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Omartyrs, with your crowns and palms,Breathe through these throngs Your battle songs,

Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms!

Look from the sky,

Like God's great eye,

Thou solemn moon, with searching beam ; Till in the sight

Of thy pure light

Our mean self-seekings meaner seem.

Shame from our hearts
Unworthy arts,

The fraud designed, the purpose dark;

And smite away

The hands we lay

May shake or swerve ere morrow's noon! Profanely on the sacred ark.

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