Justice, thy harbinger, before thee send,
Thy myrtle-sceptre o’er the globe extend:
Thy cherub-look again shall soothe mankind,
Thy cherub-hand the wounds of discord bind;
Thy smile of heaven shall every muse inspire,
To thee the bard shall strike the silver lyre.
Descend once more! to bid the world rejoice—
Let nations hail thee with exulting voice,
Around thy shrine with purest incense throng,
Weave the fresh palm, and swell the choral song!