Cuba.

As one long struggling to be free,     O suffering isle! we look to thee         In sympathy and deep desire     That thy fair borders yet shall hold     A people happy, self-controlled,         Saved and exalted - as by fire.     Burning like thine own tropic heat     Thousands of lips afar repeat         The story of thy wrongs and woes;     While argosies to thee shall bear,     Of men and money everywhere,         Strength to withstand thy stubborn foes.     Hispaniola waves her plume     Defiant over many a tomb         Where sleep thy sons, the true and brave;     But, lo! an army coming on     The places fill of heroes gone,         For liberty their lives who gave.     The nations wait to hear thy shout     Of "Independence!" ringing out,         Chief of the Antilles, what wilt thou?     Buffets and gyves from your effete     Old monarchy dilapidate,         Or freedom's laurels for thy brow?     In man's extremity it is     That Heaven's opportunities         Shine forth like jewels from the mine;     Then, Cuba, in thy hour of need,     With vision clear the tokens read         And trust for aid that power divine.