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,
To deck our girls for gay delights!
The crimson flower of battle blooms,
And solemn marches fill the night.

Weave but the flag whose bars to-day
Drooped heavy o'er our early dead,
And homely garments, coarse and gray,
For orphans that must earn their bread!

Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,
That poured delight from other lands!
Rouse there the dancer's restless feet:

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
Who spared for us a thousand lives:
He came to sing glad Israel's song;
We gave him Babylonian gyves.

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?

Sweet Christ, with flagellations brought To thine immortal martyrdom,

Cancel the bitter treasons wrought

By men who bid thy kingdom come.

Their sinful blood we may not urge

While Mercy stays thy righteous hand; But take all ours, if that should purge

The wicked patience of the land.

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