With freedom's seed across the land,
Before the star of morn I passed.
My uncorrupt and guiltless hand
Through subjugated furrows cast
The life-bestowing germ I bore,
A waste of time and nothing more.
A well-intended, futile task...
Pasture away, O passive nation
That will not rise to honor's call.
What need have sheep of liberation?
A hand will sheer and slit them all.
Their legacy each generation
Will be the lash, the chain and ball.
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