text:  Take off each stay That binds him to his couch of clay And let him struggle into day; Let chain and pulley run With yielding crank and steady rope Until he rise from rim to cope In rounded beauty ribb'd in strength Without a flaw in all his length: _Hurra! the work is done_! The clapper on his giant side Shall ring no peal for blushing bride For birth or death or new-year-tide Or festival begun! A nation's joy alone shall be The signal for his revelry; And for a nation's woes alone His melancholy tongue shall moan: _Hurra! the work is done_! Borne on the gale deep-toned and clear His long loud summons shall we hear When statesmen to their country dear Their mortal race have run; When mighty monarchs yield their breath And patriots sleep the sleep of death Then shall he raise his voice of gloom And peal a requiem o'er their tomb: _Hurra! the work is done_! Should foemen lift their haughty hand And dare invade us where we stand Fast by the altars of our land We'll gather every one; And he shall ring the loud alarm To call the multitudes to arm From distant field and forest brown And teeming alleys of the town: _Hurra! the work is done_! And as the solemn boom they hear Old men shall grasp the idle spear Laid by to rust for many a year And to the struggle run; Young men shall leave their toils or books Or turn to swords their pruninghooks; And maids have sweetest smiles for those Who battle with their country's foes: _Hurra! the work is done_! And when the cannon's iron throat Shall bear the news to dells remote And trumpet-blast resound the note That victory is won; While down the wind the banner drops And bonfires blaze on mountain-tops His sides shall glow with fierce delight And ring glad peals from morn to night; _Hurra! the work is done_! But of such themes forbear to tell