Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/123

See, see, the black night disappears,
Free, free, the world its head uprears.
No longer any Caesar's thrall,
Fit to be wed, the nations seem,
And in the blue, wide-stretching, gleam
The wings of Peace that cover all.

Surge up, free France—white-robed and pure!
Thy place is first, thy place is sure!
O triumph, after sorrows dire!
The hammer on the anvil rings,
The blue sky smiles, the redbreast sings,
From white-thorns drest in fresh attire.

The halberds are devoured by rust,
Cannons and howitzers are dust,
There scarce remains, it is averred,
A fragment large enough to hold
A drop of water bright and cold,
To quench the longing of a bird.

Rancour and hatred are effaced,
One picture in all hearts is traced,
One purpose animates all minds;
Equality—no king, no chief,
And God to tie the glorious sheaf,
The toscin's old rope round it binds.

A pin's point on the heavens is seen—
Look, look, it widens; nought can screen
Its lustre—'tis the day begun.
Republic of all nations met
In conclave, but a point as yet,
To-morrow thou shalt be the sun.