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<poem>Amply rewards the yeoman's easy toil, Whose sweating brow the ocean breezes fan, Whose worn-out strength the cooling nights restore. If anywhere upon this earthly round Kind Nature meant to found a temple-shrine For liberty, her sister, it is here,— It is this land she thus has blest and hallowed. Why now must man's ambitious avarice Come here to desecrate this sanctuary By discord, hatred and impassionate strife? Yet, it is so, and hence the fearful thought, That on some future day the bitter choice Will dawn on us, to leave these happy shores. Or else to bow our necks to tyranny. Stands like a night-mare's dread my mind before. And galls with care my every moment's joy. Nor are the coming tempest's signs obscure: Our cherished constitution overthrown,— Our chartered rights repealed or trodden down,— The frowning forts the Mexicans have built Here at Velasco and Tenoxtitlan, At Nacogdoches and at Anahuac, Not to relate their officers' and soldiers' Offences 'gainst our property and lives,— All these point clearly to their base designs, Which, even now, they hardly care to hide.


Keep cheerful, friend! the threatening thunder storm