Who, in descent from Heaven's ecstatic throng,

Was twin to light, and ranged from source to sea,

And shore to peak, and God, drew up to thee

The generations happy, pure and strong?

Freedom, as Erin's was, ere ruthless wrong

Caught, scourged and hanged it on the out-law's tree;

And is; for lo! it proves Divinity,

Transfiguring from anguish, ages long.

True, they have strangled Freedom on the cross

Of every Right's suppression—nay, have barred

His body's tomb, and placed a host on guard!

Still, He is risen; His faithful mourn no loss.

He shines forth in their midst. No bolts retard

His entrance, where grand aims for life engross.