Classic Poem

Earth's tyrants, sworn to spoil or spill
The blood that scorns the name of slave,
Ev'n while they mock heav'n's holy will,
Make of their graves oppression's grave.
What, though delay'd? The funeral torch
Of Old Delusion is prepar'd;
And in his marble pillar'd porch
The last procession's pomp declar'd.
Bring forth the hydra-headed corse!
Throw o'er his many faces, throw
The pall of thought-subjected Force!
The pall of hopeless Toil and Woe!
And deep in earth, with curses deep,
Inter the long-endur'd of God,
Where Hope and Joy shall harvests reap,
And richer verdure deck the sod.