Hymn to the Guillotine

DAUGHTER of Liberty! whose knife
 So busy chops the threads of life,
And frees from cumb’rous clay the spirit;
 Ah! why alone shall Gallia feel
 The beauties of thy pond’rous steel?
Why must not Britain mark thy merit?

 Hark! ’tis the dungeon’s groan I hear;
 And lo, a squalid band appear,
With sallow cheek, and hollow eye!
 Unwilling, lo, the neck they bend;
 Yet, through thy pow’r, their terrors end,
And with their heads the sorrows fly.

 O let us view thy lofty grace;
 To Britons shew thy blushing face,
And bless Rebellion’s life-tir’d train!
 Joy to my soul! she’s on her way,
 Led by her dearest friends, Dismay,
Death, and the Devil, and Tom Paine!