A Holy Nation

Richard Realf (1832–1878)

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.