And when I kneel aanch It seems almost a sin To fold my hands and ask for by Holland POEMS OF PATRIOTISM. THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. Он, say, can you see by the dawn's early light What so proudly we hail'd at the twi light's last gleaming Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall 'Tis the star-spangled banner; oh, long may it wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! stand THE AMERICAN FLAG. WHEN Freedom from her mountain-height And where are the foes who so vauntingly She mingled with its gorgeous dyes swore That the havoc of war and the battle's And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; confusion Then from his mansion in the sun She call'd her eagle-bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. Majestic monarch of the cloud! Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder-drum of heavenChild of the sun! to thee 'tis given To guard the banner of the free, The harbingers of victory! Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas! on ocean wave Flag of the free heart's hope and home! And all thy hues were born in heaven. For ever float that standard sheet! With freedom's soil beneath our feet, JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. AMERICA. My country, 'tis of thee, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrim's pride, From every mountain-side Let freedom ring. My native country, thee- Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Let music swell the breeze, Sweet freedom's song: Our fathers' God, to Thee, To Thee we sing; SAMUEL F. SMITH. BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the His truth is marching on. |