Page:Poems of home and country (IA poemsofhomecount01smit).pdf/156

 Till the spirit upward flies;

And down the opening skies,

Like gleams from Paradise,

Heaven's light is round them shed.

'Tis their right, with holy feeling,

To be found, all meekly kneeling,

Before the throne of prayer.

'Tis there they find their power,―

Grace is their richest dower;

Their dearest rights are there.

Oh, no, we would not take

One right, for their dear sake, -

Nor pull their power down;

Theirs to strew the earth with good,

As earth's lords never could,

And then wear Heaven's crown.

Oh, no, we are not wrong,

Say we it in prose, or song!

'Tis our pleasure to promote them

To the headship of our table,

To whatever good we're able;

But we always will outvote them.