To find that liberty none else has found.
What though across the swelling, broad Atlantic
Comes scornful menace? it is naught to thee—
'Tis but the jealous raving, wild and frantic,
Of those who would, but never can, be free;—
Who, slaves to selfish passions bold ambition,
Hold up their shackled arms in heaven's broad light,
And prate of freedom, boast their high position,
And strive to turn to interest Truth and Right.
We need more faith! What though the means be weakness?