Oh! that I stood upon some lofty tower,
Before the gathered people, face to face,
That, like God's thunder, might my words of power
Roll down the cry of Freedom to its base!
Oh! that my voice, a storm above all storms,
Could cleave earth, air, and ocean, rend the sky
With the fierce earthquake shout: "To arms! to arms!
For Truth, Fame, Freedom, Vengeance, Victory!"

The mountains, could they speak, would cry in thunder,
"Too long we've borne the tyrant's trampling hoof;"
The stars would fight from Heaven with signs of wonder;
The tempest waves dash back a stern reproof:
But ye, writhing like worms beneath the tyrant's spurning,
Dragged in the dust behind his chariot-wheel,
Is there no vengeance in your strong hearts burning,
Tho' God, and man, and earth, and heaven appeal?
Oh! for some prophet's voice to rouse and warn—
Some angel's strength to strike them branch and root!
Oh! for Christ's strength to bid, in Godlike scorn,
The very stones cry out, should ye be mute!

Hear the tale of Samson, a man of strength untold,
Born by a barren woman, a blessing to behold.
Favored by the heavens, with power in his hands,
A judge of Israel's people, protector of the lands.

His locks, like raven rivers, held a magic all their own,
A Nazarite, a holy vow, his strength from God alone.
He tore through Philistine ranks, a whirlwind in the fight,
A champion of freedom, a beacon burning bright.

But Samson, with his power, felt a yearning in his soul,
For love, for gentle whispers, to make him feel whole.
He ventured to Timnah, a Philistine town,
Where Delilah, with beauty, his senses spun around.

Her eyes, like pools of moonlight, held a secret, dark and deep,
For she was sent by enemies, his slumbering strength to reap.
With honeyed words and cunning, she teased him day by day,
"Tell me," she'd plead, "the source, your power, where does it stay?"

Three times he lied, with riddles and with scorn,
But Delilah, relentless, chipped away like a rising morn.
She wheedled and she flattered, played upon his pride,
Until, with a groan of weakness, his secret he did confide.

"My hair," he whispered, broken, "a vow I hold so dear,
Cut it, and my strength shall vanish, leaving nothing here."
Delilah, triumphant, called upon her kin,
While Samson, unsuspecting, slept within.

The shears they snipped and severed, those raven locks of might,
His power drained like water, fading into the night.
Philistines rushed upon him, their vengeance burning strong,
Blinded and betrayed, his freedom turned to wrong.

They mocked him, chained him tightly, a spectacle of shame,
The mighty judge of Israel, a prisoner, but not tamed.
His spirit, though diminished, yearned for a final stand,
To bring the temple crashing down upon that Philistine land.

With muscles straining, twisting, a prayer upon his lips,
He pushed the pillars outward, with strength from fingertips.
The temple walls came thundering down, a death knell loud and clear,
Samson and his tormentors, buried beneath the fear.

Though love became his downfall, a lesson etched in stone,
His sacrifice remembered, a hero never known.
A tale of strength and weakness, of love and bitter plight,
The legend of Samson, forever in the light.