Know ye not who would be free themselves must strike the blow? by their right arms the conquest must be wrought?
And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.
'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.
Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast; Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so.
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone!