Farewell, we must part; we have turned from the land Of our cold-hearted brother, with tyrannous hand, Who assumed all our rights as a favor to grant, And whose smile ever covered the sting of a taunt;
Who breathed on the fame he was bound to defend— Still the craftiest foe, ’neath the guise of a friend; Who believed that our bosoms would bleed at a touch, Yet could never believe he could goad them too much;
Whose conscience affects to be seared with our sin, Yet is plastic to take all its benefits in; The mote in our eye so enormous has grown, That he never perceives there’s a beam in his own.
