The White man stands with murd'rous gaze,
And looks with envy at all wealth;
For gold he has a burning craze
That crowns him with his bloody stealth.
From shore to shore he roams at large,
With maxim guns and poisoned darts:
He sails aboard his nimble barge
To rip and bleed his victims' hearts.

To India he goes with glee
For stores of shining, precious stones;
And off to China for his tea,
And Africa for ivory-bones.
The land he takes with gun in hand,
And chains the natives to the heel:
He often used the iron-brand

Sweetly confus'd, with scarce consenting will,
Thoughtless of charms, and diffident of skill;
See! with what blushful bend, the doubting fair
Props the rais'd lid — then sits , with sparkling air,
Tries the touch'd notes — and, hast'ning light along,
Calls out a short complaint, that speaks their wrong.
Now backn'ning, aweful, nerv'd, erect, serene,
Asserted musick swells her heighten'd mien.
Fearless, with face oblique, her formful hand
Flies o'er the ivory plain, with stretch'd command;
Plunges, with bold neglect, amidst the keys,

I hate thee, England! Not that thou
Hast flung me where I perish now:
Not that thy hand has stampt my name
On valour's lips a scoff and shame;
But that I see, and cursing see,
Thy soil, the Temple of the free,
Land of th' unconquerable mind,
Still Champion, Sovereign of mankind!

I hate thee, that thy matchless throne
Shadows no slave on earth, but one;
That one, Earth's ban and scorn, the slave
That moulders in this dungeon-cave.
And shall no after legend tell
The glorious strife in which he fell:

Charmers, like you, are dumb, in vain,
Their very silence speaks too plain:
That sparkling eloquence of eyes,
Proclaims you lovely, gay, and wise;
While the mild meanings of your air,
A soul, as soft, as ev'ning show'rs, declare.
Your ev'ry motion, arm'd, with speaking grace,
Tells some new wonder, and assists your face.

The wicked rips Earth's bowels up to find
Treasures to fil his mind;
Layes heaps on heaps, and riches gets great store;
For all that he is poore,
Because he carries that about him which
Forbids him to be rich;
A greedy mind that ne're can be content
With that which God hath sent,
But by ungodly waies graspeth more gold
Then's hand or house wil hold.
And what he thus hath got with care and pain

All life is mystery to man
Who speculates the cause,
His final clue is God alone
Who made and holds the laws.
From Africa to Ancient Greece
The light of knowledge flew,
But up to now the truths revealed
Go back to what man knew.

There is a God above all things
His wisdom is complete,
As ages come and ages go
To leave us at His feet.
Eternity will ever be
The gauge of finite man,
For life to him is just a song
In passing with the clan.

We come to live, then go again,
And still some more are we,

All happy, then, while o'er their smiling air,
A living mother breath'd her guardian care;
But, joyless, since their sweet supporter dy'd ,
They wander, now, thro' life, with half a guide.

Kindly suppress'd, your voice rolls soft, within,
And, in slow warblings, holds its transports in;
Yourself unpleas'd, in giving others pain,
The tide of tuneful mischiefs you restrain:
So, the fierce beams, which make all nature bright,
Revolving inward, check their long'd-for light;
Lest, deluging the world with seas of fire,
We die, beneath the lustre, we require.

Twas sin brought shame into the world: til then
There was no nakednesse 'mongst men;
And till they " put on Righteousnesse," they wil
Though clad in gold be naked stil;
They may their clothes change every day, yet find
That clothes they want, unless they change their mind.

The newnesse of the fashion's not enough,
Nor yet the richnesse of the stuff,
To cover the soul's nakednesse within,
Whiles tis deform'd with deadly sin.
The Gallant without grace, for all his brags,
Is worse attir'd then Truth that goes in rags.

The gath'ring storm of hell let loose
Is Mussolini's way of death:
But sober men will ask God's truce
Before they lose their fearful breath.
A war to-day will but inflame
A world of thinking, waiting men:
With white and black its just the same,
They, all, shall break from out the pen.
And Communism here and there,
In Europe's land, America, too,
Shall join the blood march everywhere,
And make the world a hell for you.
No horn shall stop the great melee,
When shots have cleared the Roman guns:
The mad shall shout: " O we are free.