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 HYMN FOR PENTECOST

Pure Spirit of the always-faithful God, Kindler of Heaven's true light within the soul! From the lorn land our sainted fathers trod, Ascends to Thee our cry of hope and dole. Thee, Thee we praise; To Thee we raise Our choral hymn in these awakening days: O send us down anew that fire Which of old lived in David's and Isaiah's lyre.

Centuries had rolled, and earth lay tombed in sleep, The nightmare-sleep of nations beneath kings; And far abroad o'er liberty's great deep Death's angel waved his black and stilling wings. Then struck Thine hour! Thou, in Thy power, But breathedst, and the free stood up, a tower; And tyranny's thrones and strongholds fell, And men made jubilee for an abolished hell.

And she, our mother-home, the famed, the fair, The golden house of light and intellect, Must she still groan in her intense despair? Shall she lie prone while Europe stands erect? Forfend this, Thou To whom we vow Souls even our giant wrongs shall never bow: Thou wilt not leave our green flag furled, Nor bear that we abide the byword of the world.