I hate that noisy drum!-It is a sound
That's full of war and bondage, and I blush
That liberty had ever cause to rush
Into a warrior's arms-that right e'er found
Asylum in the furious field. Not so
The holy crowns of genuine glory grow-
Not there should they who bear the badge serene
Of him who was the Prince of Peace be seen.
Can such his faithful followers be?-O no!
His laurels are not drench'd in blood,-but green
And beautiful as spring;-his arms are love
And mercy and forgiveness;-and with these
He rules the nations' mighty destinies-
And gently leads us to our homes above.