Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow.
My time has been passed viciously and agreeably; at thirty-one so few years months days hours or minutes remain that "Carpe Diem" is not enough. I have been obliged to crop even the seconds -- for who can trust to tomorrow?
Know ye not who would be free themselves must strike the blow? by their right arms the conquest must be wrought?
Hereditary bondsmen! Know ye not
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?
For Freedom's battle once begun,
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft is ever won.
He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace.
The wish, which ages have not yet subdued
In man, to have no master save his mood.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah hath triumphed--his people are free.