Classic Poem

On the verge of Eternity, calmly surveying
The dark, rolling waters that threatened beneath,
The MARTYR OF LIBERTY ended his praying
And patiently waited the signal of death;
His head on the block, but his spirit away
In the land where the tyrant shall forfeit his sway.

The words of his lips, how undaunted and cheering!
They spoke of a victory grand and complete.
They told that this mortal, whom despots were fearing,
Though conquered by wrong, was the conqueror yet —
" The grave cannot hold me! the dust shall be won
From the worm and the darkness of nature! STRIKE ON ! "

How mighty that hope, when the spirit departing,
Must sunder the ties that have bound it so long,
To feel that this tenement we are deserting,
Shall rise to new glories thro' J ESUS, THE Strong !
The grave cannot hold US ! — the flesh shall be won
From the worm and the darkness of nature! STRIKE ON !

Ah, yes! and each flaw that the eye has detected,
While occupied here, shall be covered above;
Renewed by the same glorious hand that erected,
These Temples shall all be made perfect in love;
The grave shall not hold US — this flesh shall be won
From the worm and the darkness of nature! STRIKE ON !

Then cheer, Brothers, cheer! for why should death alarm us?
A brief separation the monster will bring;
His pangs will afford, though a moment they harm us,
A glorious reunion thro' Jesus, the King!
The grave shall not hold us — this flesh shall be won
From the worm and the darkness of nature! STRIKE ON !