 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Cooper |  |
283
CHARTIST CHAUNT.
Truth is growing—hearts are
glowing
With the flame of Liberty:
Light is breaking—Thrones are quaking—
Hark!—the trumpet of the Free!
Long, in lowly whispers breathing,
Freedom wandered drearily—
Still, in faith, her laurel wreathing
For the day when there should be
Freemen shouting—‘Victory!’
With the flame of Liberty:
Light is breaking—Thrones are quaking—
Hark!—the trumpet of the Free!
Long, in lowly whispers breathing,
Freedom wandered drearily—
Still, in faith, her laurel wreathing
For the day when there should be
Freemen shouting—‘Victory!’
Now, she seeketh him that speaketh
Fearlessly of lawless might;
And she speedeth him that leadeth
Brethren on to win the Right.
Soon, the slave shall cease to sorrow—
Cease to toil in agony;
Yea, the cry may swell to-morrow
Over land and over sea—
‘Brethren, shout—ye all are free!’
Fearlessly of lawless might;
And she speedeth him that leadeth
Brethren on to win the Right.
Soon, the slave shall cease to sorrow—
Cease to toil in agony;
Yea, the cry may swell to-morrow
Over land and over sea—
‘Brethren, shout—ye all are free!’
Freedom bringeth joy that singeth
All day long and never tires:
No more sadness—all is gladness
In the hearts that she inspires:
For, she breathes a soft compassion
Where the tyrant kindled rage;
And she saith to every nation—
‘Brethren, cease wild war to wage:
Earth is your blest heritage.’
All day long and never tires:
No more sadness—all is gladness
In the hearts that she inspires:
For, she breathes a soft compassion
Where the tyrant kindled rage;
And she saith to every nation—
‘Brethren, cease wild war to wage:
Earth is your blest heritage.’
284
Though kings render their defender
Titles, gold, and splendours gay—
Lo, thy glory—warrior gory—
Like a dream shall fade away!
Gentle Peace her balm of healing
On the bleeding world shall pour;
Brethren, love for brethren feeling,
Shall proclaim, from shore to shore—
‘Shout—the sword shall slay no more!’
Titles, gold, and splendours gay—
Lo, thy glory—warrior gory—
Like a dream shall fade away!
Gentle Peace her balm of healing
On the bleeding world shall pour;
Brethren, love for brethren feeling,
Shall proclaim, from shore to shore—
‘Shout—the sword shall slay no more!’
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Cooper | |