The Gathering of the Nation

Those scalding tears — those scalding tears
Too long have fallen in vain —
Up with the banners and the spears,
And let the gathered grief of years
Show sterner stuff than rain.
The lightning, in that stormy hour
When forth defiance rolls,
Shall flash to scathe the Saxon power,
But melt the links our long, long shower
Had rusted round our souls.

To bear the wrongs we can redress,
To make a thing of time —
The tyranny we can repress—
Eternal by our dastardness
Were crime — or worse than crime !
And we, whose best and worst was shame,
From first to last, alike,
May take, at length, a loftier aim,
And struggle, since it is the same
To suffer — or to strike.

What hatred of perverted might
The cruel hand inspires
That robs the linnet's eye of sight,
To make it sing both day and night !
Yet thus they robbed our sires,
By blotting out the ancient lore
Where every loss was shown —
Up with the flag ! we stand before
The Saxons of the days of yore
In Saxons of our own.

Denial met our just demands,
And hatred met our love ;
Till now, by heaven ! for grasp of hands
We'll give them clash of battle-brands,
And gauntlet 'stead of glove.
And may the Saxon stamp his heel
Upon the coward's front
Who sheathes his own unbroken steel,
Until for mercy tyrants kneel,
Who forced us to the brunt !