God of the glorious realms of thought, From which some simple hearts have caught A ray divine. And the songs which rouse the nations, And the terrible orations, Lord God are thine. And all the forms of beauty rare, Which toiling genius moulds with care, The sculptured busts of joy and woe Far above earth, and space and time, Thou dwellest in thy heights sublime. Beneath thy feet The rolling worlds, the heavens are spread, Glory infinite round thee shed Where angels meet. From out thy wrath the earthquakes leap, Till nature groans. In agony the mountains call, And ocean bellows throughout all Her frightened zones. But where thy smile its glory sheds These thy preachers of the wild-wood, Keep they not the heart of childhood, Fresh within us still. Spite of all our life's sad story, There are gleams of Thee and glory, In the daffodil. And old nature's heart rejoices, And the sounding sea. And the mountains old and hoary, Shout Lord to thee. But tho' Thou art high and holy, Love infinite, love supernal, Lord God are thine! GARIBALDI! O sons of Italy awake, Your hearths and altars are at stake,Arise, arise, for Freedom's sake, And strike with Garibaldi! The liberator now appears, Foretold by prophets, bards and seers, The hero sprung from blood and tears, All hail to Garibaldi! Let serfs and cowards fear and quake,— Up and avenge your country's shame, And strike with Garibaldi ! "Tis freedom thunders in your ears, The shades that hover round your fanes, Keep shouting, Rise and break your chains, And tongues in many a dungeon stone, And sweep the madman from his throne, Then on with Garibaldi! The Roman Eagle is not dead, Her mighty wings again are spread, The drum of Bomba's doom does beat, |