Chartist Chaunts

CHARTIST CHAUNTS. by Thomas Cooper
TRUTH is growing—hearts are glowing
    With the flame of Liberty:
Light is breaking—Thrones are quaking—
    Hark!—the trumpet of the Free!
Long, in lowly whispers breathing.
    Freedom wandered drearily—
Still, in faith, her laurel wreathing
    For the day when there should be
    Freemen shouting—’Victory!’

Now, she seeketh him that speaketh
    Fearlessly of lawless might;
And she speedeth him that leadeth
    Brethren on to win the Right.
Soon, the slave shall cease to sorrow—
    Cease to toil in agony;
Yea, the cry may swell to-morrow
    Over land and over sea—
    ‘Brethren, shout—ye all are free!’

Freedom bringeth joy that singeth
    All day long and never tires:
No more sadness—all is gladness
    In the hearts that she inspires:
For, she breathes a soft compassion
    Where the tyrant kindled rage;
And she saith to every nation—
    ‘Brethren, cease wild war to wage:
    Earth is your blest heritage.’

Though kings render their defender
    Titles, gold, and splendours gay—
Lo, thy glory—warrior gory—
    Like a dream shall fade away!
Gentle Peace her balm of healing
    On the bleeding world shall pour;
Brethren, love for brethren feeling,
    Shall proclaim, from shore to shore—
    ‘Shout—the sword shall slay no more!’

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