The Times

Inaction now is crime. The old Earth reels
     Inebriate with guilt; and Vice, grown bold,
     Laughs Innocence to scorn. The thirst for gold
Hath made men demons, till the heart that feels
The impulses of impartial love, nor kneels
     In worship foul to Mammon, is contemned.
     He who hath kept his purer faith, and stemmed
Corruption’s tide, and from the ruffian heels
Of impious tramplers rescued periled Right,
     Is called fanatic, and with scoffs and heers
     Maliciously assailed. The poor man’s tears
Are unregarded—the oppressor’s might
Revered as law—and he whose righteous way
Departs from evil, makes himself a prey.

What then? Shall he who wars for Truth succumb
     To popular Falsehood, and throw down his shield,
     And drop the sword he hath been taught to wield
In Virtue’s cause? Shall Righteousness be dumb,
Awe-struck before Injustice? No!—a cry
     “Ho, to the rescue!: from the hills hath rung,
     And men have heard and to the combat sprung
Strong for the right, to conquer or to die!
     Up, Loiterer! For on the winds are flung
The banners of the Faithful!—and erect
Beneath their folds the hosts of God’s Elect
     Stand in their strength. Be thou their ranks among.
Fear not, nor falter, though the strife endure,
Thy cause is sacred, and the victory sure.