160
poems.
THE WAR.
1855.
O England! France! God's blessing on thine arms!
Whether in life, or death, thou canst not fall;
Truth still shall stand in its resplendent charms,
And grace thy vict'ry, or adorn thy pall.
Whether in life, or death, thou canst not fall;
Truth still shall stand in its resplendent charms,
And grace thy vict'ry, or adorn thy pall.
Flow glorious justice shines upon the crowns
That gild the royal brows of Europe's kings!
Shall Poland know again its nation's bounds?
That land where cruelty the bosom wrings!
That gild the royal brows of Europe's kings!
Shall Poland know again its nation's bounds?
That land where cruelty the bosom wrings!
Oh yes! the nations great and blest as these
Will break the tyrant's chain that binds her now!
No more she'll bend to Russia's power her knees;[1]
O'er that proud land destruction yet shall go.
Will break the tyrant's chain that binds her now!
No more she'll bend to Russia's power her knees;[1]
O'er that proud land destruction yet shall go.
O God of power! thine the victory still!
Subdue their pride, and conquer our proud foe;
Man e'er must bow to thy most righteous will;
Oh save, and bless, and with our armies go!
Subdue their pride, and conquer our proud foe;
Man e'er must bow to thy most righteous will;
Oh save, and bless, and with our armies go!
Where'er the Gospel spreads its sacred light
The captive shall be loosed, nor slavery reign;
Man shall be great but as he's just and right,
Nor tears nor blood Christ's peaceful kingdom stain.
The captive shall be loosed, nor slavery reign;
Man shall be great but as he's just and right,
Nor tears nor blood Christ's peaceful kingdom stain.
- ↑ In "Thadeus of Warsaw" we have an account of the indignities practised on the Poles.
