"Reform Convention"

It is done!—and the record is traced
     Henceforth to be linked with your fame—
It shall stand on the page of your life, uneffaced,
     A witness for aye of your shame!
To years and to ages unborn,
     Throughout every kindred and clime,
Ye shall be as a by-word, a hissing and scorn,
     To the pure and the good of all time!
The curse of the slave and the taunt of the free
Henceforth and for ever your portion shall be!

O’er the graves of those true-hearted men
     Who scoffed at the crown and the chain,—
In the land hallowed still by the spirit of PENN,
     Whose precepts ye dare to profane—
Ye have trampled the weak in your might!
     Ye have torn from the hands of the poor
The charter of manhood—the blood-purchased right
     Which your fathers were fain to secure.
Base forgers of fetters! how well have ye won
The hate of a world by the deeds ye have done!

In the days of our darkness and wo,
     When the tyrant was here in his pride,
And trembled the land ‘neath the tread of the foe,
     They fought by their white brothers’ side—
The scorned and the outcast—they poured
     Their blood in the terrible fray—
On the red field of battle they won, by the sword,
     The rights ye have wrested away:
In the hour of our peril they breasted the storm,
And stood up for Freedom, unshaken and firm!

And this is the meed of their toil!
     And this their exceeding reward!
To be in the land which they fought for, a spoil—
     A people oppressed and abhorred!
In vain to the Rulers they cry—
     The proud listen not to their moan;
And the hypocrite-priest, as of old, passes by,
     And leaves them to perish alone!
Yet shout! For our land is the home of the free—
No people on earth are as gallant as we!

By the names of thy time-honored dead,
     Pennsylvania! remember no more!
Let the wreath of thy glory be torn from thy headm
     For the day of thy splendor is o’er—
And thy Sun, in an evil eclipse,
     Dimly shines on thy patriot-graves,
While Liberty’s name is profaned by the lips
     Of tyrants—the basest of slaves!
These—these be thy Gods! lay thy lip in the dust—
For the robber now sits in the seat of thy Just!

How thy true-hearted children will blush,
     Who exultingly spoke of thee once,
Proud land of a Franklin, a Morris, a Rush!
     When they hear of thy recreant sons!
Let thy banner be torn into shreds!
     Let the flag of the pirate unfurl—
An emblem of outrage—to float o’er the heads
     Of a Martin, a Cummin, and Curll!
Be the voice of the PAST, with it memories dumb,
While hosannas are sung to a Foulkrod and Crum!

But shall thus be the end? shall the star
     Of thy glory for ever be hid?
And thy children be fettered to Tyranny’s car,
     To do as the despot may bid?
No! never!—“the free soul of PENN”
     Lingers yet o’er the land of his love—
And thy Friends to the rescue, from hill-top and glen,
     In the strength of their purpose shall move!
Thy FORWARD and EARLE have not spoken in vain,
For the sub of thy splendor shall beam forth again!

Then, tyrants! Look well to your path!
     A cloud shall come over your fame—
And the terrible storm of a free People’s wrath,
     Overwhelm you with anguish and shame!
To years and to ages unborn,
     Throughout every kindred and clime,
Ye shall be as a by-word, a hissing and scorn,
     To the pure and the good of all time!
The curse of the slave and the taunt of the free
Henceforth and for ever your portion shall be!