Who on the prostrate trunk has risen now,
And does with cleaving steel the blows renew?
Broad is the beaver on his manly brow,
His mantle gray, his hosen azure blue;
His feet are dripping with dissolving snow,
His garments sated with the morning dew;—
Our Founder is he, and, though changed by long
And grievous suffering, steadfast still and strong.
VI.
Hard by yon little fountain clear and sheen,