A dream was mine that not for long
Our joy should have its home on earth;
That love, by anguish winged, and wrong,
Should early seek its place of birth;
That all thy hand hath done and dared
Should scantlier serve our country’s need
Than some strange suffering ’twixt us shared
Her last great harvest’s sanguine seed.
I saw false friends their treaties snap
Like osiers in a giant’s hand;
Saw sudden flames our cities wrap;
Saw, drowned in blood, our Christian land.
I saw from far the nations come
To avenge the lives they scorned to save,
Till, ransomed by our martyrdom
Our country carolled o’er our grave!