The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott Edited by his Son Edwin Elliott ... A New and Revised Edition: Two Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott |  |
HYMN,
WRITTEN FOR THE ROTHERHAM POLITICAL UNION, AND SUNG THERE ON THE CELEBRATION OF THE PASSING OF THE THREE REFORM BILLS.
We thank Thee, Lord of earth and heav'n,
For hope, and strength, and triumph given!
We thank Thee that the fight is won,
Although our work is but begun.
For hope, and strength, and triumph given!
We thank Thee that the fight is won,
Although our work is but begun.
We met, we crush'd the evil powers;
A nobler task must now be ours—
Their victims maim'd and poor to feed,
And bind the bruised and broken reed.
A nobler task must now be ours—
Their victims maim'd and poor to feed,
And bind the bruised and broken reed.
O let not Ruin's will be done,
When Freedom's fight is fought and won!
The deed of Brougham, Russell, Grey,
Outlives the night! Lord, give us day!
When Freedom's fight is fought and won!
The deed of Brougham, Russell, Grey,
Outlives the night! Lord, give us day!
26
Grant time, grant patience, to renew,
What England's foes and thine o'erthrew;—
If they destroy'd, let us restore,
And say to Misery, mourn no more.
What England's foes and thine o'erthrew;—
If they destroy'd, let us restore,
And say to Misery, mourn no more.
Lord, let the human storm be still'd!
Lord, let the million mouths be fill'd!
Let labour cease to toil in vain!
Let England be herself again!
Lord, let the million mouths be fill'd!
Let labour cease to toil in vain!
Let England be herself again!
Then shall this land her arms stretch forth,
To bless the East, and tame the North;
On tyrants' hearths wake buried souls,
And call to life the murder'd Poles.
To bless the East, and tame the North;
On tyrants' hearths wake buried souls,
And call to life the murder'd Poles.
Sing, Britons, sing! The sound shall go
Wherever Freedom finds a foe:
This day a trumpet's voice is blown
O'er every despot's heart and throne.
Wherever Freedom finds a foe:
This day a trumpet's voice is blown
O'er every despot's heart and throne.
| The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott | |