Once children, hid from smallest harms
Of mind and body, cherish’d ones!
Shall ye stand up, the gallant mark
Of the brute shot, and iron rod,
And man’s frame, exquisite in work,
Be treated like earth’s common clod?
Shall England’s polish’d glory, pure
In freedom, wisdom, high estate,
Her open Bible, and her poor
Becoming one with rich and great,—