Chapter VIII

In grateful adoration now,
Upon the barren sands they bow.
What tongue of joy e'er woke such prayer,
As bursts in desolation there?
What arm of strength e'er wrought such power,
As waits to crown that feeble hour?
There into life an infant empire springs!
There falls the iron from the soul;
There liberty's young accents roll,
Up to the King of kings!
To fair creation's farthest bound,
That thrilling summons yet shall sound;
The dreaming nations shall awake,
And to their centre earth's old kingdoms shake.
Pontiff and prince, your sway
Must crumble from that day;
Before the loftier throne of Heaven,
The hand is raised, the pledge is given--
One monarch to obey, one creed to own,
That monarch, God, that creed, His word alone.