Mightier than the sword thou art, Thou can’st pierce like venomed dart, Time and space count naught with thee, Leagues of land or leagues of sea.
Thou can’st waves of passion calm, Griefs assuage like Gilead’s balm, Bring sweet pleasure to the eye, Give sweet gladness for the sigh.
When thy little point is prest, Oft it wounds some gentle breast, Filling chalice to the brim, Darkening life with sorrows grim.
Learnéd sage in days gone by, Scanned thee with prophetic eye, Said to myriads then unborn Thou would’st rule on many a throne.
Swords may stab with savage ire, Glistening out like rays of fire, They can ne’er thy power attain, O’er the sea or o’er the main.