III.

As burning sands by whirlwinds borne
Blacken and blast the tasseled corn,

And leave the verdant vale a waste,-
So have the Eastern Empires sunk,
When, like the Macedonian drunk,
Or as by frantic Furies chased,
The Conqueror's hand the pile has fired
In which a Nation's hope expired;
And o'er proud Realms as o'er a wold
The Juggernaut of War has rolled!

IV.

Thus iron Rome her rivals crushed,
Till

every Nation's voice was hushed.
Like Queen inhumed while yet her crown
She wears Etruria was o'erthrown;
The plough had leveled Carthage down;
Palmyra on the sands was strown;

And God's own Temple to the flames was given;
Till Rome alone,

O'er Earth was known,

Boasting to hold its sway as now the key of Heaven.

V.

Yet did the retribution come,—

The brand she cast but sealed her doom;

Rome raised by war, by war was overthrown!

The spoil that she had rent away

Became another spoiler's prey,—

The curse she heaped on other Lands returned upon her own!

VI.

Yet not like Babylon was she cast down;

Nor petrified like Petræ does she stand;

Nor withered Egypt-like beneath God's frown;
Nor made like Tyre and Sidon ocean stran'd;
She had her Sabbaths!-These could save and bless,
They save her still in all her wretchedness.

Nor will a people ever pass away

Who keep one day in seven as holy day.

VII.

Thanks be to God that our fair forest Land

Was kept as in the hollow of His hand,

Till, in the fulness of his gracious plan,

The Pilgrim came-best type of Christian man!
He came in zeal, with energy and will
To bear each sacrifice, each task fulfil
The Bible path of duty had revealed;

And by his blood his faithfulness was sealed:
And by his noble deeds he taught the way

How man may rule himself and God obey.

Now read the proof that strength from Labor comes,
Behold an Empire mightier than Rome's,

Won in obedience to God's high behest,

By cheerful week-day toil, and holy Sabbath Rest!

VIII.

How bravely moves the warrior in panoply arrayed,
As marching on to battle, he draws his shining blade;
His enemies are scattered, like chaff before the wind,
He drives Despair before him, while Ruin stalks behind;
And wins, perchance, a Province to ruthless plunder given,
And from the plundered curses, to drive his soul from heaven.
But never rose a warrior among the sons of men,
Not Cœur de Lion when he marched against the Saracen,
More brave than peace has nurtured and America sent forth,
With neither sword nor trapping, to the conquest of the earth.