N the blind hour of madness, in its might,
When the red star of tyranny was highest;
When baleful watchfires scared the witless night,
And kings mocked Freedom, as she wept: “Thou
diest !”
When priestcraft snarled at Thought: “I crush thee
quite |”
Then rose the splendid song of thee, “ Thou liest !”
Out of the darkness, in the death of hope,
Thy white star flamed in Europe’s horoscope.
The coffin-nails were driven home: the curse
Of mockery’s blessing flung the dust upon her :
The horses of Destruction dragged the hearse
Over besmirchéd roads of Truth and Honour:
The obscene God spat on the universe:
The sods of Destiny were spattered on her :—
Then rose thy spirit through the shaken skies :
“Child of the Dawn, I say to thee, arise!”
Through the ancestral shame and feudal gloom,
Through medizval blackness rung thy pzean :
Let there be light !—the desecrated tomb
Gaped as thy fury smote the Galilean.