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| THE WORD of God to Leyden came, | |
| Dutch town by Zuyder-Zee; | |
| Rise up, my children of no name, | |
| My kings and priests to be. | |
| There is an empire in the West, | 5 |
| Which I will soon unfold; | |
| A thousand harvests in her breast, | |
| Rocks ribbed with iron and gold. | |
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| Rise up, my children, time is ripe! | |
| Old things are passed away. | 10 |
| Bishops and kings from earth I wipe: | |
| Too long they’ve had their day. | |
| A little ship have I prepared | |
| To bear you o’er the seas; | |
| And in your souls, my will declared, | 15 |
| Shall grow by slow degrees. | |
| |
| Beneath my throne the martyrs cry: | |
| I hear their voice, How long? | |
| It mingles with their praises high, | |
| And with their victor song. | 20 |
| The thing they longed and waited for, | |
| But died without the sight; | |
| So, this shall be! I wrong abhor, | |
| The world I ’ll now set right. | |
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| Leave, then, the hammer and the loom, | 25 |
| You’ve other work to do; | |
| For Freedom’s commonwealth there ’s room, | |
| And you shall build it too. | |
| I ’m tired of bishops and their pride, | |
| I ’m tired of kings as well; | 30 |
| Henceforth I take the people’s side, | |
| And with the people dwell. | |
| |
| Tear off the mitre from the priest, | |
| And from the king, his crown; | |
| Let all my captives be released; | 35 |
| Lift up, whom men cast down. | |
| Their pastors let the people choose, | |
| And choose their rulers too; | |
| Whom they select, I ’ll not refuse, | |
| But bless the work they do. | 40 |
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| The Pilgrims rose, at this God’s word, | |
| And sailed the wintry seas: | |
| With their own flesh nor blood conferred, | |
| Nor thought of wealth or ease. | |
| They left the towers of Leyden town, | 45 |
| They left the Zuyder-Zee; | |
| And where they cast their anchor down, | |
| Rose Freedom’s realm to be. | |
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