The Press! the Press! the glorious Press!
The deep, the fresh, the ever free,
Without a mark, without a bound,
It searcheth the earth’s wide regions round.
It plays with despots, it mocks their spleen,
Or like a flaming rod is seen.
I’m on the Press! I’m on the Press!
I am where I would ever be,
With the ink above, and the paper below,
And the devil to pay wherever I go.