And lifted her soft voice, that gather’d might
As it found language:—“Are we thus oppress’d?
Then must we rise upon our mountain-sod,
And man must arm, and woman call on God!
“I know what thou wouldst do;—and be it done!
Thy soul is darken’d with its fears for me.
Trust me to heaven, my husband! This, thy son,
The babe whom I have borne thee, must be free!
And the sweet memory of our pleasant hearth
May well give strength—if aught be strong on earth.