How glares the tiger in his desert lair—

Now half the world! Beholding with dismay

That Human Freedom is the tiger's prey,

A giant, down whose shoulders, broad and bare,

The long, thick, crimson flow is Sampson's hair,

Makes haste to clutch the beast.

Oh, how the clay beneath their struggle, reddens, night and day,

Till lies the beast, a shapeless carcass there!

Oh! never from the long, thick crimson flow

A down thy shoulders from thy noble brow,

America, came such God's-strength as now,

Comes to thine arm against the world's grim foe—

The beast that, sighting man, devours him, how

The world may end, a wilderness of woe.