  As one long struggling to be free, O suffering isle! we look to thee In sympathy and deep desire That thy fair borders yet shall hold A people happy, self-controlled, Saved and exalted—as by fire. Burning like thine own tropic heat Thousands of lips afar repeat The story of thy wrongs and woes; While argosies to thee shall bear, Strength to withstand thy stubborn foes. Hispaniola waves her plume Defiant over many a tomb Where sleep thy sons, the true and brave; But, lo! an army coming on The places fill of heroes gone, For liberty their lives who gave. The nations wait to hear thy shout Of "Independence!" ringing out, Chief of the Antilles, what wilt thou? Buffets and gyves from your effete Old monarchy dilapidate, Or freedom's laurels for thy brow? In man's extremity it is That Heaven's opportunities Shine forth like jewels from the mine; Then, Cuba, in thy hour of need, With vision clear the tokens read And trust for aid that power divine. |
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