Classic Poem

How blest would be Iirne's isle,
Were bigotry and all its guile
Chased as a cloud away;
Then would Religion rear her head,
And sweet Contentment round her spread,
Like a new dawn of day.

Come then, oh come, thou Truth divine!
With double radiance deign to shine,
Thy heavenly light expand;
'Tis thine to chase these clouds of night,
Which darken and confound the sight
In this divided land.

Attendant on thy prosp'rous train
I see sweet Peace with honest gain
Spread wide her liberal hand,
While Discord, masked in deep disguise,
Abashed from forth her presence flies,
Struck by her magic wand.

Around, where now in ruins lie
Thy sacred altars, I espy
Fair Order rear each pile,
Whilst o'er thy wilds forlorn and waste,
Lo, Industry with nimble haste
Makes hill and valley smile.

No more thy sons in fell despite,
A murderous band arrayed in white ,
Shall deal destruction round;
Each man beneath his vine shall rest,
No more by bigotry oppressed,
But Truth by Peace be crowned.

Then shall Iirne tune her lyre,
And with united voice conspire
To hail her happy state;
All hail, Iirne, Nature's pride,
No more shall wars thy land divide,
Wert thou as good as great.