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ODES AND SONGS. |
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22 NATIONAL ODE.
Written on a couch of sickness, by J. S. Buckingham. HAIL! DAY OF JOY.
H
AIL ! day of joy ! whose glad return Hears a united nation's voice— " In thoughts that breathe, and words that burn," Bid millions of free hearts rejoice.
" Who is the tyrant ?—who the slave?"
A thousand anxious voices cry— Alas ! the tenants of the grave,
Could they but rise, might best reply.
The tyrant is—Destroying Drink— Who chains his slaves in links of fire ;
The slave is he whose manhood sinks Beneath his withering sceptre dire.
This tyrant carries in his train
Each baleful passion's poisonous breath-Crime, Misery, Want, Despair, and Pain,
Disease, Insanity, and Death.
Will they who love their native land,
See such a tyrant's rule upborne, Nor stretch at once their patriot hand,
To hurl him from his despot throne ?
It cannot be!—Man's nobler part
Yearns for his fellow-suffering man—
Haste, then, each patriot—Christian heart, The revolution is begun !
O ! for a Washington's pure name, A Franklin's mind—a Hancock's zeal,
A Henry's eloquence—whose flame Should kindle, in their country's weal.
Ten thousand thousand glowing tongues,
To form, to-day, a sacred band, In every hall to bid their songs
Swell high for temperance through the land. |
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