Blot from the sight of heaven The city, where she stood, And with thy might, avenging Right, Wipe out the guiltless blood! OUR ORDERS. WEAVE no more silks, ye Lyons looms, Weave but the flag whose bars to-day Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet, The trumpet leads our warrior bands. And ye that wage the war of words With mystic fame and subtle power, Go, chatter to the idle birds, Or teach the lesson of the hour! Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot Be all your offices combined! Stand close, while Courage draws the lot, The destiny of human kind. And if that destiny could fail, The sun should darken in the sky, The eternal bloom of Nature pale, And God, and Truth, and Freedom die! REQUITAL. He died beneath the uplifted thong With swelling heart and simple thought He warned us of the unheeded snare Our chiefs discovered: vilely caught, They flung him back to perish there. Did Pilate seal the Saviour's fate As still the shuddering Nations say, When, in that hour of high debate, With ill-washed hands he turned away? |