Classic Poem

Ye , where Britain loves to trace
Her native notes — her language — race,
Her harp (awhile neglected) strung
The strain Aneurin whilom sung.

As soars the sun o'er night's wide gloom,
Gay dawns the intellectual noon,
And Superstition's dens display
Lenient Reason's liberal day.

And Freedom, Reason's eldest child,
With eye of glee and aspect mild,
Widely chaunts a theme, refin'd
By all that dignifies mankind!

While these the godlike precepts give,
That teach us how, like men, to live;
Religion , from her throne the sky,
Leans to teach us how to die .

Lo! she holds the living lyre,
Catch from her the sacred fire!
Feed, ye bards, the holy flame,
And pour anew th' eternal theme.

Again let Zion's songs be sung,
That erst o'er Hebron's valleys rung;
When Gratitude's exulting voice
Bade the favour'd race rejoice:

And bid the plaintive verse deplore
Fair Salem's race in bondage sore;
Her woes unheeded, harps unstrung,
On Babylonian willows hung.

Again the power of song employ
On Judah's renovated joy,
On Jesse's root — the Prince of peace —
The source of bliss that cannot cease.

Sons of Snowdon, your's the lay,
The meed of virtue's cloudless day;
The hope that o'er the future throws
The sweets of Sharon's lasting rose .