When the young suppliants clasp their parent dear,
Heave the deep sob, and pour the artless prayer,
Ay! thou shalt melt; and many a heart-shed tear
Gush o'er the hardened features of despair!
Nature shall throb in every tender string,—
Thy trembling heart the ruffian's task deny;
Thy horror smitten hands afar shall fling
The blade, undrenched in blood's eternal dye.
CHORUS.
Hallowed Earth! with indignation