The mist of prejudice, as from a lake,
Is rising from men's minds, and tyrants quake
Reading the signs aright that speak our coming fate.
Then up! for here the patriot heart may glow
With ecstacy that tame life cannot know.
THE IRISH CATHOLIC TO HIS PROTESTANT BROTHER.
"Oh, Paddy, my boy,
What makes you so shy
To join with your Protestant brother,
Your brother?
Sure, you'll never thrive,
Unless you contrive
To be on good terms with each other,
Each other."
I.
What curse is on our land and us,
That bigot strife so long has lasted—
That every cheering prospect thus
Is by its fatal influence blasted!
That still, when round our banner green
The dawning hope of freedom rallies,
Religious discord comes between,
To mix her poison in the chalice!
II.
Religious discord! Oh! shall man,
The worm by doubt and darkness bounded,
His fellow-creature dare to ban,
For faith, in God, sincerely founded!
A holier gospel let us preach,
In spite of angry bigot's railing—
His own eternal hope to each;
But love and peace through all prevailing.
III.
And are not all our ties the same—
