The Price Of Freedom
They tell us that freedom’s a holiday dress,
Very gaudy and flaunting they’re free to confess,
But, too thin for the storm and too frail for the blast,
It is quite out of place when the sky’s overcast;
And that those on whose shoulders ’tis worthy to fall,
Not to wear it to rags, will not wear it all.
They tell us that freedom’s a suppliant that bends
To the insults of foes and the treason of friends;
They say ’tis unstatesmanlike even to dream
Of insisting on right if the right be extreme;
And that people in power will always be lenient
To modest ...