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Speak! shall their agony of prayer
Come thrilling to our hearts in vain?
To us, whose fathers scorned to bear
The paltry menace of a chain;
To us, whose boast is loud and long
Of holy liberty and light—
Say, shall these writhing slaves of Wrong,
Plead vainly for their plundered Right?
What! shall we send, with lavish breath,
Our sympathies across the wave,
Where manhood, on the field of death,
Strikes for his freedom, or a grave?
Shall prayers go up—and hymns be sung
For Greece, the Moslem fetter spurning—
And millions hail with pen and tongue
Our light on all her altars burning?
Shall Belgium feel, and gallant France,
By Vendome's pile and Schoenbrun's wall,
And Poland, grasping on her lance,
The impulse of our cheering call?
And shall the slave, beneath our eye,
Clank o'er our fields his hateful chain?
And toss his fettered arms on high,
And groan for freedom's gift, in vain?
Oh say, shall Prussia's banner be
A refuge for the stricken slave;
And shall the Russian serf go free
By Baikal's lake and Neva's wave;
