Whose genius moves the passions’ spring,
To melt the eye and warm the heart
With love of virtue, hate of sin,
Is it our nation’s bleeding fate
That gives thee such heroic fire
Singly to brave the Senate’s hate
And faith for country’s good inspire?
Yes; ’tis not all the mimic scene
We view when now beholding thee;
The heart-strung voice and earnest mien