The minstrel, o’er the grave or pyre
May rise, like Israel’s cloud of fire,
And lead their race through singing.
Nor less the power of song, when peace
Has dawn’d apace, and hopes increase,
As men in thrall have found release,
Their fetters from them flinging.
Oh, what could make their thanks complete,
Did crowds exultant fail to meet
In great Town Hall, or village street,