A Holy Nation

Let Liberty run onward with the years, And circle with the seasons; let her break The tyrant’s harshness, the oppressor’s spears; Bring ripened recompenses that shall make Supreme amends for sorrow’s long arrears; Drop holy benison on hearts that ache; Put clearer radiance into human eyes, And set the glad earth singing to the skies. Clean natures coin pure statutes. Let us cleanse The hearts that beat within us; let us mow Clear to the roots our falseness and pretence, Tread down our rank ambitions, overthrow Our braggart moods of puffed self-consequence, Plough up our hideous thistles which do grow Faster than maize in May time, and strike dead The base infections our low greeds have bred.