Thomas PAINE


O could we always live and love,

O could we always live and love
And always be sincere,

I would not wish for heaven above,

My heaven would be here.

Though many countries I have seen,

And more may chance to see,

My Little Corner of the World

Is half the world to me;

The other half, as you may guess,

America contains;

And thus, between them, I possess

The whole world for my pains.

I'm then contented with my lot,

I can no happier be;

For neither world I'm sure has got

So rich a man as me.

Then send no fiery chariot down

To take me off from hence,

But leave me on my heavenly ground -

This prayer is Common-sense.

Let others choose another plan,

I mean no fault to find;

The true theology of man

Is happiness of mind.


Liberty Tree

In a chariot of light from the regions of day,

The Goddess of Liberty came;

Ten thousand celestials directed the way

And hither conducted the dame.

A fair budding branch from the gardens above,

Where millions with millions agree,

She brought in her hand as a pledge of her love,

And the plant she named Liberty Tree.

The celestial exotic struck deep in the ground,

Like a native it flourished and bore;

The fame of its fruit drew the nations around,

To seek out this peaceable shore.

Unmindful of names or distinction they came,

For freemen like brothers agree;

With one spirit endued, they one friendship pursued,

And their temple was Liberty Tree.

Beneath this fair tree, like the patriarchs of old,

Their bread in contentment they ate,

Unvexed with the troubles of silver and gold,

The cares of the grand and the great.

With timber and tar they Old England supplied,

And supported her power on the sea;

Her battles they fought, without getting a groat,

For the honor of Liberty Tree.

But hear, O ye swains, 'tis a tale most profane,

How all the tyrannical powers,

Kings, Commons, and Lords, are uniting amain

To cut down this guardian of ours;

From the east to the west blow the trumpet to arms

Through the land let the sound of it flee,

Let the far and the near, all unite with a cheer,

In defence of our Liberty Tree.

The Death Of General Wolfe

In a mouldering cave where the wretched retreat,

Britannia sat wasted with care;

She mourned for her Wolfe, and exclaim'd against fate

And gave herself up to despair.

The walls of her cell she had sculptured around

With the feats of her favorite son;

And even the dust, as it lay on the ground,

Was engraved with the deeds he had done.

The sire of the Gods, from his crystalline throne,

Beheld the disconsolate dame,

And moved with her tears, he sent Mercury down,

And these were the tidings that came:

'Britannia forbear, not a sigh nor a tear

For thy Wolfe so deservedly loved,

Your tears shall be changed into triumphs of joy,

For thy Wolfe is not dead but removed.

'The sons of the East, the proud giants of old.

Have crept from their darksome abodes,

And this is the news as in Heaven it was told,

They were marching to war with the Gods;

A Council was held in the chambers of Jove,

And this was their final decree,

That Wolfe should be called to the armies above,

And the charge was intrusted to me.

'To the plains of Quebec with the orders I flew,

He begg'd for a moment's delay;

He cry'd 'Oh! forbear, let me victory hear,

And then thy command I'll obey.'

With a darksome thick film I encompass'd his eyes,

And bore him away in an urn,

Lest the fondness he bore to his own native shore,

Should induce him again to return.'