He captive leads the wavering will
With specious words, and fair,
And enters the beleaguered soul,
And rules, a conqueror there.

Will ye who fling defiance forth,
Against a temporal foe,
And rather die, than stoop to wear
The chains that gall you so,--

Will ye succumb beneath a power,
That grasps at full control,
And binds its helpless victims down
In servitude of soul?

Nay,--act like brave men, as ye are,--
Nor let the despot, sin,
Wrest those immortal rights away,
Which Christ has died to win.

For Heaven--best home--true fatherland,
Bear toil, reproach and loss,
Your highest honor,--holiest name,--
The soldiers of the Cross!




VIII.