'Hear, O heavens of France! the voice of the people, arising from valley and hill, O'erclouded with power. Hear the voice of valleys, the voice of meek cities, Mourning oppressèd on village and field, till the village and field is a waste. For the husbandman weeps at blights of the fife, and blasting of trumpets consume The souls of mild France; the pale mother nourishes her child to the deadly slaughter. When the heavens were sealed with a stone, and the terrible sun closed in an orb, and the moon Rent from the nations, and each star appointed for watchers of night, The millions of spirits immortal were bound in the ruins of sulphur heaven To wander enslaved; black, depressed in dark ignorance, kept in awe with the whip To worship terrors, bred from the blood of revenge and breath of desire In bestial forms, or more terrible men; till the dawn of our peaceful morning, Till dawn, till morning, till the breaking of clouds, and swelling of winds, and the universal voice; Till man raise his darkened limbs out of the caves of night. His eyes and his heart Expand--Where is Space? where, O sun, is thy dwelling? where thy tent, O faint slumbrous Moon? Then the valleys of France shall cry to the soldier: "Throw down thy sword and musket, And run and embrace the meek peasant." Her nobles shall hear and shall weep, and put off The red robe of terror, the crown of oppression, the shoes of contempt, and unbuckle The girdle of war from the desolate earth. Then the Priest in his thunderous cloud Shall weep, bending to earth, embracing the valleys, and putting his hand to the plough, Shall say, "No more I curse thee; but now I will bless thee: no more in deadly black Devour thy labour; nor lift up a cloud in thy heavens, O laborious plough; That the wild raging millions, that wander in forests, and howl in law-blasted wastes, Strength maddened with slavery, honesty bound in the dens of superstition, May sing in the village, and shout in the harvest, and woo in pleasant gardens Their once savage loves, now beaming with knowledge, with gentle awe adornèd; And the saw, and the hammer, the chisel, the pencil, the pen, and the instruments Of heavenly song sound in the wilds once forbidden, to teach the laborious ploughman And shepherd, delivered from clouds of war, from pestilence, from night-fear, from murder, From falling, from stifling, from hunger, from cold, from slander, discontent, and sloth, That walk in beasts and birds of night, driven back by the sandy desert, Like pestilent fogs round cities of men; and the happy earth sing in its course, The mild peaceable nations be openèd to heaven, and men walk with their fathers in bliss." Then hear the first voice of the morning: "Depart, O clouds of night, and no more