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A NATION'S TEST.
147
Always the same—but yet a glinting prism:
In wit, law, statecraft, still a master-hand;
An "uncrowned king," whose people's love was chrism;
His title—Liberator of his Land!
"His heart's in Rome, his spirit is in heaven"—
So runs the old song that his people sing;
A tall Round Tower they builded in Glasnevin—
Fit Irish headstone for an Irish king!
VII.
O Motherland! there is no cause to doubt thee:
Thy mark is left on every shore to-day.
Though grief and wrong may cling like robes about thee.
Thy motherhood will keep thee queen alway.
In faith and patience working, and believing
Not power alone can make a noble state:
