page contents
 


An Anonymous Worker

No Tune


Unfold, Father Time, thy long records unfold,

Of noble achievements accomplished of old;

When men by the standard of liberty led,

Undauntedly conquered or cheerfully bled.

 

As spring to the fields, or as dew to the flower,

To the earth parched with heat, as the soft dropping shower,

As health to the wretch that lies languid and wan,

Or as rest to the weary—is Freedom to man.

 

When Freedom, the light of her countenance gives,

There only he revels, there only he lives,

Seize then the glad moment, and hail the decree

That bids millions rejoice and the nation be free.


Leave a comment:

  •