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The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince

Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow

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KOSSUTH'S PRAYER.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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20

KOSSUTH'S PRAYER.

God of my Country! and her dauntless Brave,
Battling and bleeding with great souls unworn!
To whom the names of Tyrant and of Slave
Are dread and discord—misery and scorn!
From the clam region of Thy starry sphere
Look down upon Thy lowly servant here,
Whilst from his lips a million prayers take flight,
Upward, to magnify Thy mystery and might!
My God! Thy sun in the unmeasured sky
Shines with beneficent and blessed light!
Beneath my feet in quiet glory lie
The bones of brethren who have fallen in fight!
Blue are the heavens; the earth whereon I tread
With the pure blood of martyrdom is red,
The life-blood of the faithful—sons of sires
Who worshipped only Thee, and Freedom's sacred fires!
Oh! let the sun send forth his kindliest ray,
That flowers may flourish on this holy sod!
Let not my brethren sink into decay—
Back into lifeless nothingness, O God!
God of my fathers! hear the people's prayer!
God of the nations! hold them in Thy care!
Nerve them with power, amid the glare and gloom,
To snap the Bondsman's chain, and seal the Oppressor's doom!

21

As a free man, upon the sacred mould
Which wraps my brethren in a last embrace,
I reverently kneel, yet firm and bold,
True to the truth, and scorner of disgrace!
Such sacrifices sanctify the earth,—
Purge it from sin, and urge a purer birth;
My God! a Serf must never tread these graves,
The very soil would spurn the unhallowed feet of Slaves!
Great Father of my fathers! Thou Most High!
Sole Sovereign of the universe, whose might
Flung into space the countless worlds that lie
Like diamond dust upon the breast of Night!
Behold! a cloud of living light ascends
From the dear ashes of my martyred friends,
Gleams on my warriors, till they seem to glow—
An emblem of their cause—in panoply of snow!
God! in Thy mercy guard this precious dust!
Let it repose in sanctity and peace!
Inspire the living brave with hope and trust,
That they may conquer, and their struggles cease!
Forsake them not, but teach them, and make strong
The arm that battles 'gainst a hideous wrong;
And let our triumph, blown from tongue and pen,
Invigorate the world! My people cry “Amen!”