Of the mighty tongue and pen,

That reflect upon their blazon

Honest purpose grand and true,

Such as never graced the victors

Of Sedan and Waterloo.

[Pg 50]

There are weapons in these contests

Keener than the Damask blade,

There are metals of such temper

As no crucible e'er made;

For the dross must be extracted

In the furnace of the soul

Till no refuse or pollution

Shall defile the perfect whole.

Though this army counts its millions,

Each must face alone the foe,

Each must bring a special weapon,

Each must strike himself the blow

That shall free him from the shackles

Of that despot and his train,

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