Touch not that Sword. By James King, Paisley . Touch not that sword, if thy heart’s not o’erflowing With hatred to tyrants of every grade ; Touch not that sword, if thou hast not been sowing The seeds that will throw thy oppressors in shade : But if thou hast, then heave on high Its bright point sparkling to the sky ; And may his glorious spirit in thy daring bosom swell, Who first, despite a tyrant’s wrath, Most nobly drew it from the sheath, And brandish’d it aloft in air, the great William Tell ! The tyrant frown’d high, and his slaves gather’d round him, A grim-looking multitude darkening the heath— But Liberty’s son call’d his heroes—they found him Displaying the standard of freedom or death. The tyrant mov’d his host along— They march’d with shouting and with song ; But every shout serv’d only for their haughty master’sknell— The Switzer’ s band like lightening gave Line after line unto the grave, And glory crown’d for aye the head of William Tell ! Switzerland, bursting the bolt and the rivet, All lustrous appeared in liberty’s robe— The broken chain dash’d to the black ho that gave it : A glorious example to all round the globe. From lofty hall to lowly cot Was heard the soul-enlivening note— Even the falling avalanche was heard to sing “ All’sWell ;” And ever will the patriot wake That strain which will for ever make A tide of living light surround great William Tell.