Classic Poem

When thrones shall crumble and moulder to dust,
And sceptres shall fall from the hands of the great,
And all the rich baubles a Monarch might boast,
Shall vanish before the good sense of a state;
When Lords, (produced by the mandate of Kings),
So proud and dominant, rampant with power.
Shall be spoken of only as by-gone things
That shall blast this part of creation no more,
Based firm upon truth, the Charter shall stand
The land-mark of ages — sublimely grand!

When class-distinctions shall wither and die,
And conscious merit shall modestly bear
The garlands wrought by its own industry,
The proper rewards of labour and care;
When man shall rise to his station as man,
To passion or vice no longer a slave;
When the march of mind already begun,
Shall gathering roll like a vast mountain wave,
The Charter shall stand the text of the free,
Of a Nation's rights the sure guarantee.