Waiting Foe the Verdict

Through Centuries did Erin grope
In dust and ashes for lost hope;

Or darkly sought around her cave
An outlet from a living grave.

She sadly strove to tell her wrongs —
Grown venerably gray — in songs;

Or looked, with breast too full for speech,
Mute at the Heaven beyond her reach.

And now she turns to you, My Land!

Heart-open at your proffered hand:

Into a new life's quickening womb,
One smile of light transforms her Tomb.

Through Centuries of doubts and fears
She drained her Cup of bitter tears;
To the last dregs she drank it up,
And now behold an empty Cup!
With the forlornest face on earth,
And praying hands, she holds it forth —
Say, will you fill it with glad wine,
Or make it brim again with brine?
Or shall we quaff together instead
The cup that blushes a guilty red!
You have your choice; no time to halt;
Our hearts are with her in revolt!