Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
POETRY .
PROLOGUE TO SUCH THINGS ARE . ? SRFOHMED AT THE DESIRE OF A RESPECTABLE SOCIETY OF FREEMASOKS IN THE COUNTRY , MARCH 5 , 1795 .
WHILE War's terrific sounds alarm the soul , And Discord seems to spread from pole to pole . Mad Faftion , raging with the thirst of blood , Slays , in its fury , all that's great and good ; Tears down Authority , breaks up the Laws , Nor Nature ' s tender ties , nor Friendship knows ! The Sire , whose locks the Angels wou'd revere ,
Becomes a headless corse on Faction ' s bier ; And Female Grace , which charms barbaric minds , In Rebels' iron hearts no pity finds . Religion ' s altars now no longer blaze ; Her priests they banish , and her fanes they raze . See , yonder , bending o ' er her friendless Child , The hapless Widow sits in sorrow wild :
Her Partner , driven by the tyrant band , Fell Faction ' s vicfim in a foreign land . Do such scenes touch your hearts ? and ask you where Wide-wasting horrors thus pollute the air ? On Gallia look , and say , that SUCH THINGS ARE .
Turn we the painful eye from her stain'd field , T' where fairer skies a bri ghter prospect yield : See , fix'd in Ocean ' s breast , the brightest gem , And greatest boast , in Freedom ' s diadem ! Here laws are justice , and with equal sway They rule the IOVJ , ancl make the great obey . Beneath his spreading vine , and fruitful " tree ,
The peasant fearless sits—because he ' s FREE ; No harpy hand can tear him from his plow , Or rend the earnings of his sweating brow . Hail , blesseil land ! where genuine Freedom ' s giv ' n . The first , best , gift of all-approving Heav ' n ! Tho' envious nations meditate thy fate , Tho' some degen ' rate sons disgrace tfty state ,
Still future ages proudly shall declare , Of Loyalty and Freedom , SUCH THINGS ARE . In Britain ' s happy isle they've fix'd their seat , And all the Virtues on those blessings wait . Here soft-ey'd Pity heaves the tender sigh At human woes ; and swift-wing'd Charity VOL . VII . H
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
POETRY .
PROLOGUE TO SUCH THINGS ARE . ? SRFOHMED AT THE DESIRE OF A RESPECTABLE SOCIETY OF FREEMASOKS IN THE COUNTRY , MARCH 5 , 1795 .
WHILE War's terrific sounds alarm the soul , And Discord seems to spread from pole to pole . Mad Faftion , raging with the thirst of blood , Slays , in its fury , all that's great and good ; Tears down Authority , breaks up the Laws , Nor Nature ' s tender ties , nor Friendship knows ! The Sire , whose locks the Angels wou'd revere ,
Becomes a headless corse on Faction ' s bier ; And Female Grace , which charms barbaric minds , In Rebels' iron hearts no pity finds . Religion ' s altars now no longer blaze ; Her priests they banish , and her fanes they raze . See , yonder , bending o ' er her friendless Child , The hapless Widow sits in sorrow wild :
Her Partner , driven by the tyrant band , Fell Faction ' s vicfim in a foreign land . Do such scenes touch your hearts ? and ask you where Wide-wasting horrors thus pollute the air ? On Gallia look , and say , that SUCH THINGS ARE .
Turn we the painful eye from her stain'd field , T' where fairer skies a bri ghter prospect yield : See , fix'd in Ocean ' s breast , the brightest gem , And greatest boast , in Freedom ' s diadem ! Here laws are justice , and with equal sway They rule the IOVJ , ancl make the great obey . Beneath his spreading vine , and fruitful " tree ,
The peasant fearless sits—because he ' s FREE ; No harpy hand can tear him from his plow , Or rend the earnings of his sweating brow . Hail , blesseil land ! where genuine Freedom ' s giv ' n . The first , best , gift of all-approving Heav ' n ! Tho' envious nations meditate thy fate , Tho' some degen ' rate sons disgrace tfty state ,
Still future ages proudly shall declare , Of Loyalty and Freedom , SUCH THINGS ARE . In Britain ' s happy isle they've fix'd their seat , And all the Virtues on those blessings wait . Here soft-ey'd Pity heaves the tender sigh At human woes ; and swift-wing'd Charity VOL . VII . H