And smite the arm of tyranny,
And lay its haunts aflame.
Rather than peace which makes thee slave,
Rise, Europe, rise, and draw thy glaive,
Lay foul oppression in its grave,
No more the light to see.
Then heavenward turn thy grateful gaze
And like the rolling thunder raise
Thy triumph song of joy and praise
To God--that thou art free!



Climb the hillside.


Climb the hillside in the morning--
When the radiant dawn is seen
Blushing shyly on the mountains
Like a maiden of thirteen.
"Quench the lamps of right,
Fill the earth with light
Wander o'er the lofty hills,
Fringe each brightening fold
Of the clouds with gold,"
This the hest shy dawn fulfils.

Climb the hillside in the evening
When the sun is sinking low--
You shall see day's radiant monarch