Hark! through the crowd The laugh runs loud, Beneath the sad, rebuking moon. God save the land A careless hand And o'er us bend, 217 Omartyrs, with your crowns and palms,Breathe through these throngs Your battle songs, Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms! Look from the sky, Like God's great eye, Thou solemn moon, with searching beam ; Till in the sight Of thy pure light Our mean self-seekings meaner seem. Shame from our hearts The fraud designed, the purpose dark; And smite away The hands we lay May shake or swerve ere morrow's noon! Profanely on the sacred ark. |