No queen, though her form should be peerless in grace-- Though the smile of a seraph illumined her face-- Could compare with sweet Liberty, matchless, divine, As she stood in her loveliness there at the shrine; And angels smiled down from their home in the skies, And the bowed ones of earth wiped the tears from their eyes, And the spirits of patriots rejoiced to behold The dream of their labors so brightly unfold. A Union! A Union! that nothing shall sever! Free Labor and Liberty wedded forever! The priest at his labors, by word and by deed, In active benevolence none could exceed; In season and out, at all times of the year, If his presence was needed he'd surely be there. He would weep with the mourner, rejoice with the gay, And help, with a blessing, the poor on their way. Untiring, incessant, he grudged every minute That kept him from work--for his heart, it was in it! The lark was too late with its carol so sweet, As it soared in the morning the sunshine to greet; The priest could not slumber so long on his bed, For he knew that his Master had not, for his head, A pillow to rest on; and _he_ would not dare To refuse, in degree, his privations to share. But listen! The cock, with a shrill chanticleer, Proclaims, by his voice, that the dawning is near. Awake, Priest, awake! To thy labors once more! Away to the Temple, God's grace to implore On the day--on the nuptials--and on this great nation, Thus gathered to witness the New Life's celebration! The shouts of the multitude sound through the air; The bells peal their echo to hearts far and near; Haste, haste to the altar--thy vesture gird on! A nation of freemen to-day are new-born, And the clarion of fame sends the tidings afar, That the Right with the Might are triumphant: Hurrah! End of Project Gutenberg's New House That Jack Built, by L. Whitehead