Classic Poem

To Freedom raise the lofty song.
Sublimest joys to her belong.
'Tis she that smooths the face of War;
Hides with laurel ev'ry scar.
Huzza for the blessings of Freedom, oh!

To her we owe, that fix'd as fate
Appears our independent State;
Our crowded ports and growing trade;
Honours too, which ne'er shall fade.
These, these are the blessings of Freedom, oh!

'Tis She produc'd those wise and great
And honest men who rule the State;
To meaner trades no more confined —
Awls and handsaws left behind —
How great are the blessings of Freedom, oh!

Some wretches may disgrace the Cause
(For human nature's full of flaws)
And filch away the public wealth:
Speculate — by way of stealth —
Disgracing the banners of Freedom, oh!

The Tories cry our Paper down;
Count forty dollars but a crown:
For which we'll tax and plague them more
Than Pharaoh's slaves in days of yore;
And all for the honour of Freedom, oh!

Then fill the glass to Fredom, oh!
Fill up the glass to Freedom, oh!
May the present contest hold
Till my Paper's turn'd to Gold —
Then, a fig for the battle for Freedom, oh!