XXIV.
All gone! ’tis ours, the goodly land—
Look round—the heritage behold;
Go forth—upon the mountains stand,
Then, if ye can, be cold.
See living vales by living waters blessed,
Their wealth see earth’s dark caverns yield,
See ocean roll, in glory dressed,
[p18]
For all a treasure, and round all a shield:
Hark to the shouts of praise