SHOUT, for a mighty Victory is won! <br />On British ground the Invaders are laid low; <br />The breath of Heaven has drifted them like snow, <br />And left them lying in the silent sun, <br />Never to rise again!-the work is done. <br />Come forth, ye old men, now in peaceful show <br />And greet your sons! drums beat and trumpets blow! <br />Make merry, wives! ye little children, stun <br />Your grandame's ears with pleasure of your noise! <br />Clap, infants, clap your hands! Divine must be <br />That triumph, when the very worst, the pain, <br />And even the prospect of our brethren slain, <br />Hath something in it which the heart enjoys:- <br />In glory will they sleep and endless sanctity.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/anticipation-october-1803/
