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The new and old at war for mastery,

But through its hope and fear, its love and hating,

The nation with its rulers vacillating,

There came the age when light gained victory,

And Freedom through the songs of Shakespear breathing.

That Freedom then, as ever, bathed in blood,

And tried by fiery fagot and the stake,

The Freedom of the soul to trow and live,

As Christ commanded, ev’n that men should give—

Like He—their lives for His own Kingdom’s sake,

For none was free as He, upon the rood.

The voice of Freedom whispered through the world—

Like quick’ning breezes of advancing Spring,

Which wake the modest crocus ’mongst the hills,

And violets along the laughing rills,

And bid returning songster’s music ring

Through budding woodlands by the mist impearled.

Thus Freedom’s voice did wake the souls of men,

The lowly and the mighty felt its power,

But most the pure in heart who saw their God,

Their hearts rejoiced ev’n ’neath the scourging rod;

Alone they stood in suffering’s dark hour,