'Twas but a pebble from the brook, sent by a loyal will;

But sword and spear not mightier were God's purpose to fulfil.

For one may chase a thousand, and ten thousand flee from two;

The God of right is strong to save by many or by few.

*     *     *     *     *

Years, ages pass and now I see a land beloved and fair;

And lo! a cruel enemy hath gained possession there.

The riches of this goodly land into his coffers pour;

Insatiate and unscrupulous, his constant cry is "More!"

"More money clinking in my till, more men—my licensed prey;

More boys to feed my traffic when these men have passed away."

Thus man is robbed of purse and soul, home of its peace and joy;

The wife of husband is bereft, the mother of her boy.

The land doth mourn. On every side the spoiler hath his way;

[Pg 38]

No past oppression hath surpassed this vision of to-day.

And who, like Moses, will exchange his self-distrust and fear

For faith to meet the encroaching foe and check his bold career?

And who, like Deborah, will arise and lead a valiant band

To drive the Tyrant from her gates, the Traffic from her land?

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