Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/188

       Nor fretted fanes that brave
Old Time, on Rome's imperial soil,
By stern taxation wrung from toil,
       The tyrant from the slave;

But the free gift of hands unchained,
And hearts uncrushed and homes unstained,
       Thou through the cloud dost peer,
And warn, like morning's blessed star
The watchful mariner from far,
       That all he loves draws near.

Still onward o'er the sea of time
Unfold thy chronicle sublime,
       And teach a race unborn
The lesson learned on Bunker's height.
To trust in Heaven, uphold the right,
       And base oppression scorn;

Point to the skies, and bid them read
Of patriot faith, the hallowed creed,
       And guard its ritual bright,
And choose the path their fathers trod,
Those friends of liberty and God,
       Who rose to realms of light.