Let him who tries to stop thee have a care!
Woe, woe to him that hateth thee, woe to the knaves who fear
To follow where thou leadest—to Rome and victory,
To dethrone the king of liars, at the hypocrites to laugh,
And their idolatries to scatter to the winds of heaven like chaff.
I await thee in the mountains, when the bloody strife is o'er,
And thou comest with the laurel wreath upon thy head;
Thou shalt drink our mountain streams, grassy meads shall be thy bed,
There thy wearied limbs shall rest, and thy heart be glad once more,
He who fighteth for the faith, findeth glory at the last,