To the Roman Pontiff on the Discipline of Father McGlynn

The German tyrant plays thee for his game;
Italy curbs thee; France gives little rest;
And o'er the broad sea dost thou think to tame
God's young plantation in the virgin West?
Three kingdoms did He sift to find the seed,
And sowed; then open threw the sea's wide door;
And millions came, used but to starve and bleed,
And built the great republic of the poor.

Remember Dover Strait that shore from thee
Whole empires, hidden in the banked-up clouds
Of England's greatness! Of all lands are we,
But chiefly northmen; still their might unshrouds
The fates; dream not their children of this sod
Cease to be freemen when they bow to God!
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