XVIII. Congratulation

Thus all things lead to Charity—secured
By them who bless’d the soft and happy gale
That landward urged the great Deliverer’s sail,
Till in the sunny bay his fleet was moored!
Propitious hour! had we, like them, endured
Sore stress of apprehension, with a mind
Sickened by injuries, dreading worse designed,
From month to month trembling and unassured,
How had we then rejoiced! But we have felt,
As a loved substance, their futurity;
Good, which they dared not hope for, we have seen;
A State whose generous will through earth is dealt;
A State, which balancing herself between
Licence and slavish order, dares be free.