Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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SONG TO FREEDOM. |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
SONG TO FREEDOM.
1
A Crust of Bread and Liberty,With thee, oh God, is all I seek:
Content with these to live or die,
A Rock, whatever Storms may break.
2
The base Heart that th'immortal MindEntombs within the living Grave
Of sensual Joys and Pleasures blind,
Such Bliss as mine shall never have.
3
But shall return unto the DustOf which 'tis made, as brute Beasts may,
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A barren Heart, a Soul of Clay.
4
The Monarch 'neath his gilded Ties,I envy not, not I, a Jot,
I laugh at such Strawdeities,
Fooled and befooling's still their Lot!
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The Pride of Wealth, the Pomp of Power,Have naught to charm my sober Eye,
I cast them in Truth's Balance sure,
And up they mount, a full Mile high!
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The Fame that from Men's false Lips won,Is less worth than the Wind's fleet Breath,
The Puff of Folly, blown and gone,
True Fame springs surest after Death;
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The Seed Ambition sows on EarthGrows up apace, and fruits rightsoon,
But 'tis of Ashes, and its Worth
Is fitted well for Folly's Boon.
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The Joys of Earth what matter theyTo one whose Mind a Kingdom is,
In utter Scorn he turns away,
A nobler Sceptre far is his.
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Allhail, true heartborn Liberty,For if thy Temple be not there,
Thy Worship's but a Mockery,
Thy Name an empty Breath of Air.
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There is no Prison for the Soul,It triomphs over Time and Space,
And wings its Flight to that bright Goal
Where Mercy shall each Woe efface.
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I thank thee God, for thou hast givenTo the true Hearts that in thee Trust,
A Might, which, like the Fire of Heaven,
Melts e'en the Prisonbars to dust!
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Light of our Light, Hope of our Hope,The Sun shines but for thee and thine,
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With Freedom's magicwand the Mine.
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What is the golden Heavenslight,When in the Shadow dark of Death
And Slavery, the Soul's true Night,
The Spirit draws its stinted Breath?
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That Light can enter not the Heart,It is no Sunshine of the Breast,
It cannot soothe Despondence' smart,
The Consciousness that knows no Rest.
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Then wellcome Liberty, with thee,All Climes are fair, all Sorrows light,
For the sweet Thought that we are free
Makes e'en the Desert glad and bright.
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Heir of a boundless Patrimony,The Soul may still expatiate
Thro' Heaven and Earth, below on high,
In Pleasures that can never sate.
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Then give me but a Crust of Bread,Oh God, in thy high Service free,
And I will yield whole Worlds instead,
For where thou art, must all Things be!
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |