THE ROBERT E COWAN COLLECTION 
 
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 Ta EDWARD A. WEED, BOOK & JOB PKINTEU. 2222 MISSION ST. ^^' 
 
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 SAN FRANCISCO: 
 EDWARD A. WEED, BOOK & JOB PRINTER, 2208 MISSION ST. 
 
^ ^ ^< ^f ^. f. ^ 
 
 *^^^ C Entered, according to Act of Gcmgrees, in the year 1882, by 
 -^^ j ELIZA A. PITT8INOEB, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of GongresB, at Washington. *) 
 
 ^ 
 
 7 4-fo/o 
 
-8 — "^^ DEDICATION -^^^r ^=^^ 
 
 To the loyal Men and Women of the R3pnblio; to all who love 
 her Institutions— and especially to the Heroic defenders of our Glo- 
 rious Public Schools, these Sybilline Leaves are most earnestly ded- 
 icated by 
 
 Theib Author. 
 
 

 Were the Author of these "Bugle Peals'^ a Politician, with an 
 ambition measured by the highest number of votos; or an Editor, 
 even, over solicitous in regard to Subscription lists, they would not 
 now be sounded. She has no apologies to offer, no favors to solicit; 
 nor any desire of winning laurels by their publication, except an 
 appreciation from the Loyal and Clear Sighted— from that class in 
 the community, who, like "Watchmen on the walls of Zion," are 
 standing as guards and sentinels over our Ameiican Institutions — 
 and who, in D£E3>8, as ik wobds, would forever shield them from the 
 influence of foreign spies, seditions factions, and meddling Hier- 
 archies. 
 
 E. A. P. 
 
 ^j — ^ ^j<i'®^'^;si 
 

 Rouse, Ye Americans 9 
 
 The Assassination of the Prince of Orange 11 
 
 The Jesuit (with accompanying criticisms) 14 
 
 Shake up the Union 17 
 
 Ye Cannot Serve Rome and America 19 
 
 Kissing the Pope's Toe 21 
 
 A Reply to Priest Hecker 23 
 
 Father Crogan and the Bible 26 
 
 Invocation to the Reformers 29 
 
 Down with the Convent 31 
 
 
ROUSE, YE AMERICANS! 
 
 [The following spirited and stirring Poem was written abunt two 
 years ago: since which time it has been recited by the Authoress 
 before the Patriotic Order Sons of America of this city— and been 
 solicited for the same purpose by several of their Camps in the 
 Atlantic States.] 
 
 Bouse, ye Americans! awake. 
 
 For Freedom and onr Country's sakef 
 
 O, in one solid phalanx stand 
 
 As sentinels to guard the land! 
 The serpent in our midst doth coil, 
 His slime is on our native soil; 
 
 Arise, like Spartans crowned with mighty 
 
 Like Warriors, arming for the fight! 
 
 Kouse, ye Americans! 'Tis time 
 
 To rend the mask, and stay the crime; 
 Tis time to undermine the foe, 
 To turn aside the treacherous blow 
 
 A Jesuitic, crafty band 
 
 In secret conclave long hath planned 
 To strike destruction, and disarm 
 Our nation of its chief est charm! 
 
 'Tis time to sound the clarion peal, , 
 
 To wake the honor, stir the zeal, 
 
 The valiant blood whose life remains 
 A sacred pledge in freedom's veins, 
 
 'Tis time to rouse the latent thrill, 
 
 To fire and energize the will 
 
 Of each heroic soul that throws 
 The gauntlet to our Country's foesf 
 
 'Tis time to sound the bugle-horn 
 Through deepest midnight to the mom. 
 
 Until each clear, prophetic tone 
 
 Shall thunder through each clime and zone! 
 
lO ROUSE. YE AMERICANS! 
 
 *Ti8 time, as freemen of the soil, 
 To crash the serpent in his coil, 
 
 To f^nd him, as indeed we most. 
 With all our mitiht into the doail 
 
 Thon oantini^, hypooritio priest. 
 Bevelling in thy ill-gained feast, 
 Place not thy sin-poUuted hands 
 On freedom's fair and hallowed lands! 
 Thy breath is lost and poisonous slime. 
 Thy pledfte a lie, thine oath a crime, 
 
 Thy Hymbols the dark sifins that dwell 
 Within the deepest shades of hell- 
 So then, thun wily, plotting priest. 
 Still revelling in thy godless feast. 
 Beware the Angel who doth stand 
 With flaming sword to guard onr Innd! 
 
 Beware the tme, heroic fires 
 Deaoending from oar Pilgrim Sires: 
 Beware the spirit that awakes. 
 And in its thundering volley breaks! 
 Beware the clear and searching eyes 
 That know thy plans, and read thy lies. 
 By which with mask all rent and torn, 
 Of priestly robe and mitre shorn, 
 Stripped of thy vaunted gold and green, 
 In thy true colors thou art seen! 
 
 ye Americans! *Ti8 time 
 To soond the tocsin, probe the crime. 
 To tear the mask from treason^s face, 
 And its dark, bloated form deface! 
 *Tts time to tread the mitre down. 
 And on its blood-stained signals frown; 
 *Tis time to place the valiant heel 
 Upon the serpent, and to feel 
 The old heroic vengeance glow 
 Against a loathsome, lurking foe! 
 A treacherous enemy with hand 
 Now raised against a generous land« 
 Whose bounteous gifts alone could save 
 The eravens from a pauper's graved 
 
THE ASSASSINATION OF THE PRINCE OF ORANGE. 
 
 THE ASSASSINATION OF THE PRINCE OF ORANGE. 
 
 The arm of the assassin wag nerved, 
 The hand of Balthazar* was dyed 
 
 In the life-blood of him who had served. 
 With a patriot's courage and pride, 
 
 And a vigor that never had swerved, 
 As bravely he breasted the tide, 
 
 Gave up, without honor or place, 
 
 His fortune and life to his race. 
 
 'Twas a time when the tear-drops sprang 
 To the stalwart cheeks of the brave, 
 
 And the whole of The Netherlands rang 
 
 With the names that their records engrave 
 On the tombs of the hero and knave. 
 
 'Mid the gathering temi^est and gloom 
 The Flag of the Cross was unfurled, 
 
 And awhile the sad Angel of doom 
 Wept over a languishing world. 
 
 The people were veiled in a cloud, 
 
 Their vilest destroyer had come, 
 The children were crying uloud, 
 
 And the valiant defenders were dumb — 
 All the cities were clad in despair, 
 
 O, great was the terror and pain 
 When the Demon leapt out of his lair, 
 And 'Good Father Wi.llinm"+ was slain. 
 
 From Louvain to Ostrawell, 
 
 From the inland to the strand. 
 A wail of weeping fell 
 
 Along the Fatherland— 
 From Amt^erdam to Ghent, 
 
 O, it was sad to see 
 The fountain of woe that siwnt 
 
 Its tears by the Zuider Zeel 
 
 * Balthazar Gerard, a CathoHc, was paid a large sum of money 
 for committing the atrocious deed, by lung Philip of Spain. 
 
 t A title bestowed upon him by his loving people. 
 
12 THE ASSASSINATION OF THE PRINCE OF ORANGE. 
 
 Ill a tempeHt of diHnuiy, 
 
 With n sadden liKhtninft Ktroke, 
 ThrouRh Ilotterdani and Spa 
 
 The fearful tidingn broke; 
 But Lilterty unfurled 
 
 Her banners to the light. 
 And Iiefore a fiazinj; world 
 
 Whet her sabre for the right. 
 
 With the wily King of Spain. 
 
 And the treacherous King of France, 
 Through the shifting and the bane, 
 
 The retreat and the advance 
 Of the forces in their play. 
 
 'Twas a wonder to liehuld 
 How the heroes won their way 
 
 Through that fiery Kiege of old. 
 
 But the Hoi hinder Imd sworn. 
 
 With his sword in his hand, 
 That his country should l>e shorn 
 
 Of its vile and bloody band — 
 His heart was like his steel, 
 
 And his spirit like the grand 
 Old energy and zeal 
 That the Sons of Freedom feel 
 
 With a deadly foe at hand. 
 
 And thus the seed was sown. 
 
 It was there to germinate 
 Where no sceptre and no throne 
 
 Could overturn it with their hate. 
 It was nursed in tears and gloom. 
 
 With the blood of martyrs fed. 
 While the clash and whirl of doom 
 
 Its fiery pageants sped. 
 
 It was watched in ways untold, 
 
 And encompassed with the brand 
 Of a despot who had gold 
 
 And allies in every land — 
 By the mitred sons of crime 
 
 It was threatened, it was sought, 
 But the heroes of their time, 
 
 Through the years of turmoil, 
 
THE ASSASSINATION OF THE PRINCE OF ORANGE. 13 
 
 In a kingly splendor wrought, 
 
 And with courage brave and firm 
 
 Guarded well the murky soil 
 
 That contained the subtle germ, 
 
 'Till its branches, dewy bright, 
 
 Kissed the first beams of the light. 
 
 Thus at last was freedom won 
 
 From the foes that swarmed her land, 
 
 And her brave, illustrious son, 
 In a pathos sad and grand, 
 
 Crowned that stormy siege of strife 
 
 With the last sweet throb of life. 
 
 From Cologne to Duffel and Douny, 
 
 From the uttermost verge to Naarden, 
 Nought was heard on that sorrowful day 
 
 But the wailing of women and men — 
 Their hopes were all written in sand, 
 
 A bird of ill omen had flown 
 Above their dear heads, and the land 
 
 To a merciless desert had grown. 
 
 Ring Philip had published a ban. 
 
 Had offered a price for his head. 
 By which this dear Ood-fearing man 
 
 Like a lamb to the slaughter was led. 
 
 With a murderous passion deferred 
 
 With a lunacy burning within, 
 There came from the clamorous herd 
 
 A son of perdition and sin — 
 He came, and the hero no more 
 
 Gave hope to the toiling band, 
 Who sought in their might to restore 
 
 The hopes of their suffering land. 
 
 The people were veiled in a cloud, 
 
 Their vilest destroyer had come, 
 The children were crying aloud. 
 
 And the valiant defenders were dumb- 
 All the cities were clad in despair. 
 
 And great was the terror and pain 
 When the demon leapt out of his lair, 
 
 And Good Father William was^lain. 
 
14- THE ASSASSINATION OF THE PRINCE OF ORANGE. 
 
 "Have mercy, O Father. I pray, 
 
 On my people," he lovingly said, 
 Ab the Roul still encumbered with clay, 
 
 By the bond of affection was led — 
 "My poor people, O Godr' not again 
 
 Moved those lipe to that sorrowful tone; 
 On that brow was no signal of pain, 
 
 All was still, the sweet spirit had flown! 
 
 THE JESUIT. 
 
 ABCHBI8HOP PCECELL*S CKITIQUE. AS PUBLISHED IN 
 'THE CATHOLIC TELEGRAPH," OF CINCINNATI. 
 
 [This Poem was fir it contributed by its Author to **The Camp 
 News." the Orean of "The Patriotic Order Sons of America," pub- 
 lishea at Philadelphia: which brought forth from this Catholic 
 Dignitary the following reuiurks;] 
 
 *'The editor of this delectable sheet, who rentdes at Philadelphia, 
 evidently thinks his readers can not have to3 much of a good thing, 
 aa is evident from his note: 
 
 (The following excellent lines were written for onr August issue 
 and now republished by request.— Ed. ) 
 
 on a beautiful and highly Christian poem, of which Ihe following 
 is the first stanza: 
 
 THE JESUIT. 
 
 BT EXJZA A. PITTSnVOKB. 
 
 In Bome a tyrant, and in Spain a thing 
 That wears a mask and bears a poisonous sting, 
 In India a stranger, in France a knave, 
 In Ireland a bigot and n slave: 
 In our Republic a designing tool 
 And trailer warring with the Public School— 
 And whether in Greece, in Hindoostan or Spain, 
 His record bears the progeny of Cain. 
 The other five stanzas are, if anything, more abominable than 
 the first. After this little exposition of the tenets of the Patriotic 
 Order of Sons of America, we hope the Patriotic Sons of the Cath- 
 olic Church in America, will watch the localities infested by the 
 said order, in the interests of .their Church, their children, and 
 their homes. AltaF and fireside are both threatened." 
 
THE JESUIT. 15 
 
 CRITICISM BY ONE OF THE LITEKATI OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 "Home, Sweet Home." made its author, Howard Payne, immortal. 
 "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," has given Julia "Ward Howe 
 a place in the pantheon of lyric verse. There are tributes to pa- 
 thetic destiny, to lofty inspiration, and to the holiest memories of 
 the human heart; hence their everlasting enshrinement. Others 
 have become immortal throuj^h their works because of adverse 
 and relentless criticisms. The Scottish Reviewers, undoubtedly, 
 gave the prime and main impulse to the grand creations of Byron. 
 '•The Wandering Jew," because of the anathemas of Rome, has 
 made Eugene Sue the conspicuous figure he is in fictitious narrative. 
 And there exists no doubt but that the author of "The Jesuit," this 
 spirited and talented Poet of the Golden State, ia to have placed 
 upon her temple the wreath of the undying. Surely, if the brilliant 
 efforts of an earnest worker against the designinff and Anti-Repub- 
 lican Jesuit can give conspicuity or immortality, then our poet is 
 verily to become a living memory. 
 
 "The Jesuit" is an embodiment of an inspiration that is scarcely 
 surpaased; unless by other efforts of the same writer. It is an in- 
 cision as of a blade of fire, cleaving the hablot or the tibeb. 
 The whole nature of the personnel of the military arm of the Ro- 
 man Catholic Hierarchy is laid open to inspection by the masterly 
 effort of Mrs. Pittsinger. "The Jesuit," however, is only one of 
 many Creations of a similar character from the pen of this really 
 meritorious poet of the "Far West." The fact that Rome writhes 
 beneath the strokes of her subtle and penetrating lance proves that 
 she has power; and is finally to become a c-onspicuous figure in the 
 annals of Roman hate. 
 
 The poem is as follows: 
 
 In Rome a tyrant, and in Spain a thing 
 
 That wejirs a mask and beara a poisonous sting. 
 
 In India a strangler, in France a knave. 
 
 In Ireland a bigot and a slave; 
 
 In our Repul)lic a designing tool 
 
 And traitor warring with the Public School — 
 
 And whether in Greece, in Hindoostan or Spain, 
 
 His record bears the progeny of Cain. 
 
 In the black arts a chieftain and a king. 
 Moving en rapport with a sudden spring. 
 
16 THE JESUIT. 
 
 And in the fpixne of infamy and siu 
 
 He steals a march lon^ ere his foes begin; 
 
 His dupes he marks, and with a ruthless greed, 
 
 VTherein his consoienoe glorifies the deed, 
 
 No means are left untried by which to take 
 
 The last lone Peter*s pence, for Jesus* sake! 
 
 In a most marvellous and crafty way 
 
 He flatters, fawns and pounces on his prey: 
 
 If at bis hands a kindly deed is done, 
 
 O, then beware of some dark plot begun! 
 
 The robes of light he dons, and serves his creed 
 
 In garments filched and suited to his need! 
 
 Hid from the light in some dark, musty aisle, 
 He learns to feign, to meddle and beguile; 
 And in his skill avoids no toil nor care. 
 As link on link he weaver his wily snare, 
 Spins his dark web, and most adroitly plies 
 On poor confiding bats and helpless flies 
 The vilest of all arts and blackest of all lies. 
 
 His breath is like some dire and dread simoom, 
 Forever blasting with a curse and doom; 
 Whatever he touches droops beneath the spell 
 Of some dark haunting shade cruel and fell— 
 Wher*er he journeys, wheresoever toils, 
 There virtue weeps and innocence recoils, 
 And the fair cup of life doth overflow 
 With desolation, infamy and woe. 
 
 And thus he stands, a stigma and a blot. 
 With deeds confined to no especial spot- 
 Where carnage, superstition, death and crime 
 Despoil an age or devastate a clime 
 There hath he wandered, there upon the sand 
 Hath left the print of his unrighteous hand. 
 
 ,g-^,^ -^^ 
 
 t^^^^^^ 
 
SHAKE UP THE UNION. 
 
 SHAKE UP THE UNION. 
 
 [The following Poem was delivered by its Author, and received 
 with much enthusiasm, at the Washington Birthday Celebration giv- 
 en at Washington Hall, San Francisco, on the Evening of Feb. 22, 
 1881, by The Patriotic Order Sons of America — The theme was sug- 
 gested by the contents of a letter written by John S. Keeder of Ohio, 
 their National President, to I. A. Heald, the District President of 
 California.] 
 
 Shake up the Union! let it be 
 
 From traitors, spies and Jesuits f reel 
 
 Divest it, even to a man, 
 
 Of its l3'ing, thieving, dronish clan; 
 
 And let the sand-lot still record 
 
 A melodrama of the sod! 
 
 Shake up the Union; sift it fine 
 Of crafty vipers, groveling swine; 
 Of noisy malcontents that band 
 In swarming hordes upon our land! 
 O, lift the standard, rear the sign. 
 So high that they may touch the line^ 
 Where, in a watch that never sleeps, 
 Time his eternal vigil keex>s! 
 
 O, from the centre to each zone 
 Shake it, ye Sons of Freemen, own 
 No law to guide ye but the one 
 That nerved the noble Washington! 
 Float out your banners, raise them high/ 
 Like rainbows let them span the sky! 
 Like deathless constellations set 
 Above our nation's parapet; 
 Until, like sunset on a stream, 
 The very land shall glow and gleam? 
 
 Float out your banners! thrill, ye stars. 
 And tremble with our loud huzzas; 
 And ring, ye hallelujahs, ring, 
 Our Nation's God is Lord and King! 
 
SHAKE UP THE UNION. 
 
 Down, down, thoa treaoherons, lying greeUf 
 
 O, never let thy rnfjs be seen, 
 
 ( While yet the love of land inspires, ) 
 
 lieaide the standard of my siree! 
 
 Away, away, thou hateful sign. 
 
 Upon the parallel and line 
 
 ()f papal policy and wrath 
 
 Forever be thy cursed path! 
 
 Away, no more thy false huzzas; 
 
 For O, above our stripes and stars 
 
 A spirit reigns— amid the blue 
 
 An eye that pierces through and through: 
 
 An eye whose light is like the Sun, 
 
 And sleeps not Hill the day is won! 
 
 Bhake up the Union; make it reel 
 With dreams of bugle-horn and steel! 
 O. grasp it in the mighty arms 
 Of light: and crown it with the charms 
 That nerved our fathers, sped our sires 
 Unflinching thit>ugh the battle-fires! 
 
 The Union? stir it with a brand 
 Plucked by a mighty master hand! 
 Arouse the faithful, nerve the true. 
 Kindle its slumbering fires anew, 
 And with the horn of Gabriel make 
 The whole foundation groan and quake! 
 
 O, Sons of Heroes, in a great 
 Ovation to our Qolden State 
 The songs of freedom we will sing 
 Until we make the welkin rin;;;, 
 And every schoolhouse of our land 
 Shall like an armed battery stand; 
 All bristling with the fiery breath 
 Of righteous wrath and papal death! 
 
 Float out your banners, firm and fast 
 Go nail their colors to the mast! 
 They are the same that Grant beheld 
 When he the great Philistine quelled — 
 Raise them aloft, they are the same 
 That shed a bright, perennial flame 
 
SHAKE UP THE UNION. IQ 
 
 O'er Lincoln's brow, as on the mom 
 That Freedom blew her golden horn — 
 And O, their loving folds were spread 
 Above our brave and valiant dead, 
 As in the stricken valleys they 
 Awaited God's Redemption Day! 
 
 Raise them aloft! they are the sign 
 And seal of something most divine — 
 They are the same that Freedom bears 
 Above a nation's tears and prayers; 
 Thai Genius, in the fadeless dye 
 Of beauty, captures from the sky! 
 
 YE CANNOT SERVE ROME AND AMERICA. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO TBArrOBS, AND TOOIiS OF THE VATICAN. 
 
 Ye cannot serve the Pope of Rome, 
 And be on Freedom's soil at home! 
 Within a crafty viper's nest 
 No lover of the laud can rest; 
 No son of our Republic league 
 "With anarchy, treason or intrigue! 
 
 So tell the bishop and the nun, 
 
 Not while the earth moves round the sun 
 
 Will ever a hero nip the bait 
 
 Of blarney-stone or Popish hate! 
 
 And with a mes.sage quick to Rome, 
 
 Go tell the Pope to stay at home! 
 
 That mitre, gown and crucifix 
 
 Are not in love with Seventy-six! 
 
 Go tell him that the Antipodes 
 
 Are held apart by separate roads, 
 
 That oil and water will not mix. 
 
 That diamonds are not made of bricks, 
 
 That light and darkness are apart, 
 
20 YE CANNOT SERVE ROME AND AMERICA. 
 
 And that his Crosa and Sacred Heart, 
 His pibberish, consecrated seal, 
 That Latin nonsense would conceal, 
 Are but a myth, by which to foil 
 And roh the victim of hii\ toil! 
 
 By which the Priest, for Biddy's pay, 
 Wi!l pardon Biddy's sins and pray. 
 And wipe away the little tricks 
 Of Ihcft among the heretics! 
 
 Indeed, IVo often hearil it said 
 Tha; Biddy's thieving acta wore led 
 By these same triok8t<.>r8. who have long 
 Inspired the deed, absolved the wrong. 
 
 Ccnveniont fturely 'tis to bo 
 Disciples of the Holy Seel 
 To follow in the wake and lead. 
 To bow and blarney to a creed. 
 That for a moss of pottage old 
 By satan to his minions sold, 
 Can make of foulest crime and sin 
 A web to wind their victinas in! 
 
 CoDTenient His to be a Priest, 
 Grow sleek and fatten on the feast. 
 The Peter's pence, the willing share, 
 That want and degradation bear! 
 
 From such unholy sacrifice, 
 O. Biddy, from thy knees arise; 
 And Michael, Patrick, Tim O'Shano, 
 Your fetters break; O, rend the chain 
 That binds ye, body, soul and brain! 
 
 For O, ye cannot be at home 
 
 "With Freedom and the Pope of lipmo! 
 
 Ye cannot bend a servile knee 
 
 Unto the meddling Holy See, 
 
 And still the true disciples be 
 
 To our Kepublic; Seventy Six 
 
 Is made of metal not to mix 
 
 "With mitre, stole or crucifix; 
 
 Two masters ye cannot obey! 
 
TE CANNOT SERVE ROME AND AMERICA. 21 
 
 So choose yonr own and go your way, 
 Still pondering what I have to say! 
 
 If ye would serve the Vatican, 
 
 Go herd together in a clan, 
 
 And never let your zeal be seen • 
 
 Except beneath your flags of green! 
 
 With treacherous and crafty lies 
 
 Think not to blind our searching eyes; 
 
 The tools of Rome ye cannot be 
 
 And still the friends of Liberty; 
 
 Two masters ye cannot obey, 
 
 So choose your own and go your way! 
 
 ^•^-mx-^y^^-^ 
 
 KISSING THE POPE'S TOE, 
 
 A wonderful toe doth the Pope possess! 
 Kiss it, ye vassals, and then confess! 
 Unbosom your secrets to bigots and knaves, 
 'Tis a custom they cherish of making ye slaves; 
 Of taking your money, and forging their chains 
 For the work of your hands and sweat of your brains! 
 
 Behold, O, mine eyes, the meek pattern and sign 
 Of a poor devotee with his lips to the shrine! 
 Like the pagan of old as he clasped to his breast 
 Some heathenish symbol by which he was blest, 
 Some vapid, angainly, crude, whimsical myth, 
 Devoid of all reason, sense, beauty or pith; 
 O, sublime counterpart, to thine idols now sold, 
 How far dost thou rise o'er that pagan of old? 
 
 O, worship barbaric and folly sublime, 
 
 Can ye cover the stain, quench the stigma of crime? 
 
 Will your dogmas unravel the slippery knot, 
 
 The noose and the coil by thy neophytes caught? 
 
 O, cure, if ye may, the last tremor and strife 
 
 Of a petrified conscience, a dissolute life! . 
 
22 KISSING THE POPES TOE. 
 
 Heathenish folly of a heathenish creed, 
 That the toe of a pope should so dnzzlo and lead! 
 That a torpid, corporeal, odious thing 
 To a people or race such delusion can bring! 
 . Surprising, indeed, to what summit and sway 
 
 The phreusy of blind superstition gives way I 
 
 The toe of the Pope! mold it quickly in stonel 
 To a putrified state it hath suddenly grown! 
 Bring bergamot, lavender, otto of rose, 
 For the odor and scent a miasma disclose; 
 Bring subtle aromas and heeling perfumes. 
 Exhalations and fragrance of roseate blooms. 
 And scatter, with a free and sanctified hand, 
 A flood of pure inomise over the land! 
 
 The toe of the Pope! let it molder away, 
 Let it sink in oblivion, ^-ani8h, decay, 
 Till its print evermore is lost in the clay; 
 Bear it through valleys and shadows of gloom^ 
 It is yours, O, ye ^leotres of Flesh, make room 
 Down in the nethermost deptlis of the tomb! 
 
 The toe of the Pope! kiss it quiokly, depart, 
 For surely, its i>ulses are not of the heart — 
 Kiss it now while ye may; let your stupid lips clin^ 
 To the fruitleftSy anwholesome, unsavory thing: 
 Kiss it quickly and hasten: ere long it will be 
 Like a mote that is lost in the waves of the sea! 
 
 A volume indeed might be written to shed 
 
 Its light on the manner the victims are led 
 
 By this will-o'-the-wisp, this spectre of clay, 
 
 That rules with the sceptre, and reigns with tie sway 
 
 Of a merciless despot — ah, then might we load 
 
 In the modus operandi the sinuous creed, 
 
 By which the ixx>r terrified Bupplicants win 
 
 At the feet of their tyrants absolution of sinf 
 
 Arise, O, ye slaves, rend your fetters, and stand 
 Like son.? of our patriots guarding the land! 
 Arise, rend your fetters, declare ye will be 
 By the right of your manhood untram.neled and free! 
 Break the chains that are forged by your maaters and 
 say 
 
KISSING THE POPE'S TOE. 23 
 
 As thoir victims and slaves ye no longer obey — 
 Arise, stand like men, and forever proclaim 
 In the kissing of toes there is folly and shame; 
 O, say to yonr comrades, and swear to the plan 
 That your priest is a tyrant, your pope but a man, 
 Your bishops, your nuns, and your dogmas a cheat, 
 That time and progression will surely defeat! 
 
 Arise, break your chain, on Columbia's land 
 'Neath the fold of her banners as patriots standi 
 Let your deeds as your pledge forevermore be 
 True to that standard by which ye are free- 
 Then will we sing to our nation a song 
 That may strengthen the weak and encourage tha 
 
 I trong, 
 Bind up the mate wounds and the sorrows of toil. 
 And crown with our garlands the Kings of the soil! 
 
 ♦ ' ^=^ - :^ tJ^'< ^ ^ 
 
 A REPLY TO PRIEST HECKER. 
 
 'Who said "Wo will take this Country, and build our Institutions 
 over the grave of Protestantism." 
 
 Thou recreant, treacherous and gaunt 
 Son of an alien element, avuunt! 
 Wouldst take this Country! seize the land 
 By our own valiant heroes planned, 
 And breathe upon it the foul breath 
 Of desolation, woe, and death! 
 
 On Liberty's long wished for grave 
 Would stand a craven cringing slave! 
 Who on her once proud soil would raise 
 A banner reeking in the blaze 
 Of ravished cities — let us see 
 Which are the stronger, they or thee! 
 
24- REPLY TO PRIEST HECKER. 
 
 A thit-f, -with hnndfl all stained in crime 
 Would rob fair freedom of her clime! 
 A stealthy, orospins, crawlinjj thinj?, 
 "Would to her lial lowed altars bring, 
 (Made hideous in its overflow,) 
 A holocanst of sin and woe! 
 
 Avaont, thoa traitor! hide thy face 
 
 Deep in the depths of thy disgrace! 
 
 The gods, fortiooth, have made thee mad,* 
 
 And in a manner strange and sad, 
 
 (At least to thee,) have clearly wrought 
 
 The shameless langnago of thy thought! 
 
 As they make mad thoj* will destroy! 
 Host subtile measures they employ, 
 That bring to human brotherhood 
 The highest blessiu", ohiofeat good! 
 'Twaa well for us tho i spake the word, 
 Twas well we understood and heard: 
 "•Tin over well and safe to know 
 The Beciet purpose of a foe! 
 
 So Father Hecker, pray beware. 
 And speak thy wish with better care! 
 Perchance thou dost not know the might 
 Of valor warring for the right; 
 Of vengeance in the deadly hour 
 Of its own grand mysterious power! 
 Ah, then beware how thee or thine 
 Shall seek to cross the fiery line! 
 
 "Wouldst have our country? then thy zeal 
 Must nerve thy arm to n-eet cur steel! 
 As flash on flash, and blow on blow. 
 Above the soil would bum and glow, 
 As when our sons their fury sent 
 Into the enemy's camp, who spant 
 Their last sad forces but to find 
 They could not change what God designed! 
 "Wouldst have our coTintry? then prepare 
 For infamy, defeat, despair! 
 
 ♦Whom the gods destroy they first make mad. 
 
REPLY TO PRIEST HECKER. ^5 
 
 0« Father Hecker, pray desist, 
 
 A.nd snoh anoodly speech resit*t, 
 
 Lest thou evoke the valiant bands 
 
 From long-remembered olimes and landaf 
 
 Lest to the flesh thou call apain 
 
 The martyred ones thy church hath slaiiw 
 
 Who in a mighty host will stand 
 
 To crush thee with avenging handf 
 
 Indeed, 'twas truly most unwiae 
 
 For thee to open thus our eyes; 
 
 To place within our thankful haUda 
 
 A key to thy rebellious plans! 
 
 'Tis even sol the gods destroy 
 
 "Whom first they madden and decoy! 
 
 So, Father Hecker, ba ck to Komel 
 To desolation's joyles ; home! 
 Seek not, I pray, to taint the bloom 
 Of Liberty with blight and gloom! 
 But let the cherisliod flbwer remain 
 A welcome tribute of the plain, 
 Where once our pilgrim soldiers bled' 
 Beneath the waving folds that shed 
 On bloodless hearts and fading eyes- 
 The symbols of their sacrifice! 
 
 Is there no p'aoe upon the earth 
 
 For germination and the birth 
 
 Of error, bigotry and crime, 
 
 But in our long-forbearing clime? 
 
 Is there no land where thou canst find" 
 
 More easy fetters for the mind? 
 
 Methinks there is some comer yet. 
 Where truth and mercy have not m^^ 
 Some distant realm, some region dark, 
 Where never a glimmer, never a spark 
 Of light has ever dared to shed 
 Its beams, but all lies cold and dead^ 
 Some lonely desert where the bloom 
 Of life can find no space nor room — 
 No fragrant tree, no singing rill. 
 But all is dismal, dark and still; 
 And there, thou impious a m of Rome, 
 Is thy true heritage and homo! 
 
26 FATHER CRCXJAN AND THE BIBLE. 
 
 FATHER CROGAN AND THE BIBLE. 
 
 Father Crogan, a priest of Romanism, threw the Bible, some 
 time since, out of a railroad oar window on the Pennsyl v-ania 
 Central; and soon will these same fbiends of uepublioan oovebn- 
 ICEMT endearor to flini; our Bible, not only from our soliools and 
 railroad cars, but from our alters and our dwcllinRS. So let U3 
 prepare for this (]jeat revolution of religious usage, and meet it iu 
 the apirit of {Christian heroes. 
 
 Father Crogan cannot bear 
 
 The Bible, as I now declare! 
 
 Or why should he his ira have spout 
 
 To its diss^ra-jieful banishment? 
 
 Father GroflfaOf does the lij;ht 
 Of truth so stiRmatizo and blight, 
 Thou cans't not bear its luoid rays 
 To shine upon thy priestly ways? 
 O, is thy creed so foul and dark 
 That thus it woakon.H 'noath the spark. 
 The heavenly flame of God's decree? 
 If not, what meaneth this from thee? 
 
 Father Crogan, why, I pray, 
 Dost throw the ble%ied book away? 
 'Twill do thee good if thou wilt read, 
 And live by its exalted cbeed! 
 The Bible? why, 'tis Freedom's own 
 Eternal shield and corner-stone! 
 
 With an inspired tongue of flame. 
 It is the living word that came 
 To sow amid the tares of strife 
 The seeds of Everlasting Life! 
 It is the shrine, the l>ond and seal 
 To which all valiant spirits kneel! 
 
 O, what sweet memories glow and bum 
 Within me as I backward turn. 
 And trace beside my mother's knee 
 
Father crogan and the bible. 27 
 
 A childish form, then sworn to be, 
 (To which she gave untiring heed) 
 A faithful pupil of its creed.' 
 
 Soon she unfolded her fair wings, 
 And left us mid the ohanj^ng things 
 Of this frail, human life — though yet 
 Since then full many a sun hath set. 
 Still this I understand and know— 
 Amon;j the blcmms that spring and glow 
 Along ray pathway, none more fair 
 Than those she nourished then and there. 
 
 And shall we now forbear to feel 
 The love, thi reverence and zeal 
 For its inspiied iMiges? No! 
 Stand up, ye bravo, avert the blow; 
 And with the sword of truth depose 
 Its cari)ing and uialioious foes! 
 
 Stand up, ye freemen! stand again 
 Like sons of true, heroic mon! 
 Stand for your publia sahool and youth! 
 Stand for the o irner stone of truth! 
 Stand bravely, like the Sons of Might, 
 Equipped with God's Eternal Light! 
 
 <>, must our free-born youth be driven 
 From what their fathers long have striven? 
 Must they in midnight darkness grope 
 To keep alive the bigot's hoi>e? 
 To fan into a flickering life 
 The embers of rebellious strife? 
 Forbid it, martyred saints of love! 
 Forbid it, all ye powers above! 
 
 Must the inspired Word of God 
 Be stamped into the hopeless sod? 
 Must libertj , outraged, disgraced. 
 By frauds and traitors be displaced? 
 Forbid it, O, thou Blessed Son 
 Of the All-Wise and Holy One! 
 
 Brothers, Freemen of the land, 
 Of California's golden strand, 
 O, will ye peaceably retire. 
 
28 FATHER CROGAN AND TH^ BIBLE. 
 
 And let these wily hordes oouspire 
 Afi:aui8t yoar country? Will ye quail 
 When they your public schools assail? 
 Forbid it, justice! let the rod 
 Of venf^eanoe teach the will of Ood! 
 
 Brothers, Sisters of the laud. 
 As watchful soldiers let us stand. 
 And sow amid our country's youth 
 The seeds of liberty and truth! 
 As ohonen martyrs of the ri^ht, 
 All panoplied with heaven's mi^ht. 
 0« let na trample in the dust 
 Them germs of discord and distrust; 
 And^rive forever from our soil 
 Tlie dragon's form, the serpent's coil! 
 
 And may the Stars and Stripes still be 
 A hallowed symbol of the free! 
 Whoso cherished colors shall redeem 
 Our land from many a bigot's dream— 
 O, raise it bravely from the gloom; 
 Entwine it with a Spring-time bloom! 
 Baptize it with a new-bom zeal! 
 Swear to protect it with the steel 
 That vbbedom^s kons mat only wield 
 
 Oh FBBXDOM^S mOBTT SATTIiK-FIEXD! 
 
 
INVOCATION TO THE REFORMERS. 29 
 
 INVOCATION TO THE REFORMERS. 
 
 Spirit of Martin Luther, son, 
 And type of some illustrious one 
 That generations might have shed 
 Upon thy brave, heroic head, 
 I pray thee, still a soldier stand. 
 And guard the siifety of our land I 
 
 Brave Knox and Calvin, fan the firea 
 That holy vengeance now inspires: 
 And in the bugle-peals of woe, 
 To a forbearing nation show 
 The deep lain treachery and strife 
 That mars her glory, dims her life! 
 
 Tear oflF the mask, reveal the dark 
 Malignant spoti the sign, the mark, 
 And let ''the Beast" forever stand 
 An ill-starred omen of the land! 
 Renowned, Inspired and Righteous Three, 
 Stir up the fires of Liberty! 
 
 From that fair realm of love and light 
 Come forth, as on the wings of might: 
 And touch, as with a fiery brand. 
 Each slumbering freeman of our laud I 
 
 O, can a nation ever be 
 
 A prosperous one, wherein we see 
 
 A deadly cancer that devours 
 
 And saps the life-blood of its powers? 
 
 A leech with everlasting maw 
 
 Is at her vitals; and at war 
 
 With valor, decency and law — 
 
 A Jesuitic, leprous sore, 
 
 That never a kingdom may restore; 
 
 That never a realm, republic, clime. 
 
 To aught save infamy and crime. 
 
 The storm, as the dark day creeps on 
 Is muttering from the horizon! 
 
30 INVOCATION TO THE REFORMERS. 
 
 Sons of our Land, let not the firo 
 Of your heroio camps expire: 
 But like a light uix>n the hill, 
 (). let them p;lenm and bum until 
 The plains of Freedom are ablaze 
 Willi floods of newly beaming rays! 
 
 Immortal Lincoln, martyred one, 
 Who fell before the traitor's gun. 
 If thou mayost still be near, 
 Commingling with this lower sphere, 
 O, let thy hallowed lips inspire 
 The valiant sou of each brave sire 
 Until the very land shall quake, 
 And to each zone and centre shake! 
 
 Lamented Lincoln, who didst lead 
 The weary liondmen to thy creed, 
 If thou still mayost have the power, 
 Be near us in this signal hour! 
 Thy hand was strong; inspire the blow. 
 This papal curse to overthrow! 
 
 Brave Huguenots, who fell below 
 This cloven-hoofed, satanio foe, 
 O. bear from your far shadowy land 
 A flaming sword, a baming brand! 
 For surely righteousness shall speed 
 The hand of Judgment in its deed! 
 
 Pale, silent victims, who were led 
 
 Down to the regions of the dead. 
 
 Whether martyr, nun or saint, 
 
 W'e note your wrongs and list your plainti 
 
 Probation with its crime endures 
 
 No longer — strike, the day is yours! 
 
 Reformer, martyr, hero, nun. 
 
 Here is your foe! the treacherous one 
 
 Whose hands were tinctured with the stains 
 
 Of your heart's blood and pulsing veins — 
 
 Reformer, martyr, hero, nun, 
 
 Here is your murderer; 'tis done! 
 
 At last the old Red Dragon lies 
 
 A oarrion corpse before our eyes! 
 
DOWN WITH THE CONVENT. SI 
 
 DOWM WITH THE CONVENT, 
 
 Down with the convent, and the crime 
 That weaves its bl<M>dy hands with timet 
 Down, ye shameful nunneries, down, 
 Beneath the hate, the curse and frown 
 Of God himself <). foul dis^jrace, 
 That ye should thus have found a place. 
 With all 5 our mockeries, on the soil 
 That freedom oonsecnites to toil! 
 
 Down, thou dread stench of sin and death^ 
 Thine odors are the poisonous breath. 
 The (godless and tht^ crafty wiles 
 Of priestly arts and jesnit smiles! 
 Down, doubly down: "out. damned spot!*' 
 Thou art the darkest, foulest blot, 
 That e'er disgraoetl and brouj?ht its dearth 
 To the green plains nnd fields of earth! 
 
 Thou art the scourge, the curse, the crime, 
 
 The deadly upaa tree of time; 
 
 The great despoiler. that keeps 
 
 His watch where maiden beauty sleeps; 
 
 Where woe metes out to youth and trust 
 
 Ita darkest meeds of death and lust! 
 
 Again I say, "out. damned spot!" 
 
 In thy polluticm thou hast wrought 
 
 Such ruin, wreck and sacrifice. 
 
 That not the tears from all the eyes 
 
 Of thy lost victims may suffice 
 
 To make thee clean: nor henceforth win 
 
 Redemption from the tempter's sin! 
 
 Beware, thou hypocritic priest, 
 For famine follows many a feast! 
 And surely time will yet reveal 
 The deeds thy cunning would conceal! 
 Thy dupes and vassals in their cries 
 Of wrong and vengeance shall arise 
 And on the housetoiM yet proclaim 
 A truthful resord of thy shame! 
 
a2 DOWN WITH THE CONVENT. 
 
 O, then, thou craven of the night, 
 How wilt thou bear Gixi's noon-day light? 
 How wilt thou stand beneath the sun 
 And thy great retribution shun? 
 
 How wilt thou stand l>efore the blast 
 
 That brings the crimes of all the past 
 
 In one vast record to the light? 
 
 How bear the curse, the stain, and blight, 
 
 That justice in her ire will shed 
 
 Upon thy ruthless, sin-scarred head? 
 
 Weak dupes of a tyrannic power, 
 Poor helpless playthings of an hour; 
 In snperstit ion's cradle bred. 
 How willingly their feet are led. 
 Allured by the destroyer's breath. 
 Into the very jaws of death! 
 
 Arouse, ye mothers, quench the flame 
 Of superstition, crime and shame! 
 And in your great maternal might 
 O, nip the bud and crush its blight; 
 Strike to its death the web of sin 
 Those Jesuitic spiders spin! 
 
 O, mothers of the emerald isle. 
 How can ye on these wreckers smile? 
 These vilest perjurers of truth! 
 These very murderers of youth! 
 How can ye give your daughters up 
 To woe and crime? and to the cup 
 That lust and treachery prepare 
 For death, for ruin and despair? 
 
 Arouse, ye mothers; if one thrill 
 Of love can fire the stagnant will, 
 If with your daughters on the brink 
 Of hell, your slavish souls can think, 
 O, grasp them from the red-hot fires 
 That lure by their most foul desires! 
 
 Down with the convent and the curse 
 That its unhallowed deeds rehearse! 
 Down with a creed whose withering blight 
 
DOWN WITH THE CONVENT. 
 
 33 
 
 Robs life of liberty and light; 
 And shuts within a godless tomb 
 The rosy blush and hopeful bloom 
 Of maiden youth! forever down 
 The great Red Dragon with his crown! 
 Down with his horns that number ten! 
 Off with his seven heads, and then 
 O, bloom anew, thou stricken earth, 
 With a new baptism and the birth. 
 The blessedness and heavenly sway 
 Of God's own great Millennial Day! 
 
 
CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT 
 
 202 Moin Library 
 
 LOAN PERIOD 1 
 ~ HOME USE 
 
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 AU lOOKS MAY U KCAUED AFTH 7 DAYS 
 
 » month loons moy be reneweo Dy coilmg 642 3405 
 
 6 month loons moy be rechorged by bf mgmg books to Cuculotion Desk 
 
 Renewois ond rechorges moy be mode 4 days pnof to doe dote 
 
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 NOV ?0 1979 
 
 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
 FORM NO. DD6. 60m, 1 1 /78 BERKELEY, CA 94720