To the last moment of his breath
On hope the wretch relies;
And e’en the pang preceding death
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the gleaming taper’s light,
Adorns and cheers our way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
For he who fights and runs away
May live to fight another day;
But he who is in battle slain
Can never rise and fight again.
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.
For just experience tells; in every soil,
That those that think must govern those that toil.
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay;
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country’s pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.