To him who Despairs.
Tho' the roofs be on fire — tho' our rivers run blood,Tho' their flags on the bill, on, the plain, on the flood;
Tho' their bayonets bristle, and abouts read the sir--
Faint heart, do not atter the cry of despair!
There'd moon looked down on the field of the slain,
The gaunt vulture soar after the desolate plain;
By the love once that martied in glory it, there,
Arouse from thy stupor, and never despair!
We have mountains that lift their gray peeks to the skin--
We have reform whose crack to the war-yell in piles--
We have sinewy arms-- we have son's that will dare--
While these are our safeguards, why, doubter, despair.
The great God it just, and be blesses the right,
He makes the weak rise like a glint in might.
When he strikes for his borne and the tender once there--
There's hope in each blow — there's shame in despair.
Then, shoulder to shoulder, push with a tread,
That will shake the loose earth that is heaped o'er the deed;
Bear the torch and the sword to the proud tyrant's lair.
Let the wold battle about drown the wail of despair.
Despair ! while the old man can flourish? his staff--
Despair ! while the boy at the invader can laugh--
Despair ! while our daughters and wives kneel in prayer,
And our mothers scream out, ‘"don't despair.-- don't despair."’
Ge, preach to the rock on the lone ocean shore,
And tell it to battle the billows no more--
While there's life there is hope, for the death-blow prepare;
It is glotions to battle — it is base to despair !
