Oh! heart–wrung prayer, rising from myriad lips,

Let the dread agonised appeal go forth,

The nation's cry for peace—even in our time,

Grant us that peace so long denied, O Lord!

We bend no dastard knee, nor basely crave

One servile boon; we only ask to share

The common hope bequeathed alike to all;

Must life possess no joy for us, for ours,

Nought but the toiler's lot, the captive's fate;

The galley–slave's fell doom, who only hears

The dull and mournful plashing of the oar?

If from our lips the suppliant's prayer ascends,

It is not that we dread the battle's front,

The clash of arms, the sabre's fatal thrust,

The cannon's thunder, or the bayonet's charge

Our broken ranks have stood a fiercer fire,

Battling with insult, contumely and scorn—

Aye, deadlier far the weapons we have braved,

The poisoned shafts of famine and despair.

Better to fall beneath the gleaming steel,

To die like men, than slowly linger on,

Wounded by hunger, spent by endless want,

Giving the lie to God's ordained decree,

That man shall eat the fruit of his own toil.

We claim their birthright for the trodden serfs,

Let the dire foeman sheath his vengeful sword.

We sue for peace—an armistice though brief—

A pause amid the carnage, a respite

From misery's murderous onslaught—a reprieve

For the pale martyrs of a ruthless war.

Alas! the time is even now at hand

When hope may come too late—it matters not

To the slain victims on the battle–field,

Whether the truce long sought for be proclaimed,

Or the hot warfare rage with fury still.