Thou teachest slaves, down-trodden, how to stand
Lords of themselves in each chivalrous Land.
XVIII.
The hosts of death, the squadrons of the law,
The arm'd appeal to pageantry and hate,
Shall serve, a space, to keep thy name in awe,
And then collapse, as old and out of date.
Yea! this shall be; for God has willed it so.
And none shall touch thy flag, to lay it low;
And none shall rend thy robe, that is to thee