Lo! he leadeth on our bands, Freedom's banner in his hands,
Let us aid him, not with words, but doing;
With the marches of the brave, prayers of might that strike and save,
Not a slaving spirit's abject suing.
Thus in glory is he seen, tho' his years are yet but green,
The anointed as head of our nation;
For high Heaven hath decreed that a soul like his must lead,
Let us kneel, then, in deep adoration.
Oh! his mission is divine; dash down the Lotus wine—
Too long is your trancéd sleep abiding;
For by Him who gave us life, we shall conquer in the strife,
So we follow but that Young Chief's guiding.
ATTENDITE POPULE
OH! that I stood upon some lofty tower,
Before the gathered people, face to face,
That, like God's thunder, might my words of power
Roll down the cry of Freedom to its base!
Oh! that my voice, a storm above all storms,
Could cleave earth, air, and ocean, rend the sky
With the fierce earthquake shout: "To arms! to arms!
For Truth, Fame, Freedom, Vengeance, Victory!"
The mountains, could they speak, would cry in thunder,
"Too long we've borne the tyrant's trampling hoof;"
The stars would fight from Heaven with signs of wonder;
The tempest waves dash back a stern reproof:
But ye, writhing like worms beneath the tyrant's spurning,
Dragged in the dust behind his chariot-wheel,
Is there no vengeance in your strong hearts burning,
Tho' God, and man, and earth, and heaven appeal?
Oh! for some prophet's voice to rouse and warn—
Some angel's hand to strike them branch and root!
Oh! for Christ's strength to bid, in Godlike scorn,
The very stones cry out, should ye be mute!