POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2336, 29 September 1881, Page 4

POETRY.

THE PRESS. When tired nature sinks to rest, And, gently pillow’d on her breast, Humanity lies down to sleep, Wh le watchful stars their vigils keep— What, through the long and silent hours. With patient core and tireless powers Collects the little scraps of nows, Tinted with all life’s varying hues, What deeds are done, what thoughts are thought. What noble works are nobly wrought, What dastard acts are meanly done. What good is lost, what good is won, And sends it forth at morn’s first ray The perfect history of a day ? The Press. When wrong and force oppress the weak And false advantage strongly seek ; _ When craft and cunning both combined, Strive to pervert the human mind From the plain path of truth and right And hold it by the power of might— What mightier power its cogia throws Before down trodden human woes. Exposes fraud, and shame, and sin. And lets the light of truth shine in ? The Press. God save the freedom of the Press — And may it’s power ne’er grow less, But burn as some strong steady light. Fed by the powers of truth and right. Ever the first in Freedom’s cause, Ever the first to give applause When right against oppression fights, Ever defending human rights, May it for ever hold its place The bulwark of the English race— A Free, untrammelled Press.