And the red bolt that pierced his quiv'ring brain
Maddened a million hearts with burning pain!
Dead?--frenzied demon of the lash and whip,
What time you let your dogs of ruin slip
At his unguarded throat with raurd'rous cry,
And passion-howl of rage and agony?--
Nay:--in that deathful hour, from shore to shore,
Men heard his voice who never heard before;
And, pale with horror by his bloody clay,
Vowed from that hour his mandate to obey,--
Nor rest till all your fiends of Crime and Lust,
'Neath Freedom's heel, lie weltering in the dust!
Dead? dead?--Nay!--'tis not thus that good men _die_!
Tis thus they win fame's immortality!
Thus does their every utt'rance grow sublime,--
A voice of power,--a watchword for all time!--
And the dead arm a mightier scepter sways,
Than his, who, living, half a world obeys!
Sleep, uncorrupted Patriot! faithful one!
Friend of the friendless! Freedom's martyred son!
Henceforth no land shall call thee all its own,--
The World, Humanity, the bruised and lone,--
The oppressed and burdened ones of every clime
Shall claim thee theirs, and bless thee thro' all time,
And "_are, and shall be free!_" from shore to shore
Speed grandly on till serfdom is no more,
And gentle brotherhood our sorrowing race
Link man to man in warm and true embrace!
GOD'S BLESSINGS.
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