Classic Poem

The race, that long in darkness pin'd,
Have seen a glorious light;
The people now behold the dawn,
Who dwelt in death and night.

To hail the rising Sun of life,
The gath'ring nations come,
Joyous, as when the reapers bear
Their harvest-treasures home.

For thou our burden hast remov'd;
Th' oppressor's reign is broke;
Thy fi'ry conflict with the foe
Hath burst his cruel yoke.