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They cater to tyrants?—They rivet the chain,
Which their fathers smote off, on the negro again?
No, NEVER!—one voice, like the sound in the cloud,
When the roar of the storm waxes loud and more loud,
Wherever the foot of the freeman hath pressed,
From the Delaware's marge to the Lake of the West,
On the South-going breezes shall deepen and grow,
Till the land it sweeps over shall tremble below!
The voice of a people—uprisen—awake—
Pennsylvania's watchword, with Freedom at stake,
Thrilling up from each valley—flung down from each height,
Of 'Ritner and Liberty!—God for the Right!'
