 | Erato, number I |  |
29
ODE FOR INDEPENDENCE-DAY.
God of the high and glorious Heaven,
To Thee, forever, praise be given!
When tyrants aimed the deadly blow
To lay Columbia's banner low,
Thou, who canst blast, and who canst save,
Stretched forth thine arm to shield the brave—
And hurled Oppression's minions back,
Dishonored, on their blood-stained track.
To Thee, forever, praise be given!
When tyrants aimed the deadly blow
To lay Columbia's banner low,
Thou, who canst blast, and who canst save,
Stretched forth thine arm to shield the brave—
And hurled Oppression's minions back,
Dishonored, on their blood-stained track.
How fought our Spartan sires, and fell,
Their children need not shame to tell:
Thou wert the Power that led them on,
And smiled whene'er their valor won;
And Thou the Power that struck the blow,
Which laid their proud oppressors low:
To thee, oh God! their children raise,
This hallowed day, the voice of praise.
Their children need not shame to tell:
Thou wert the Power that led them on,
And smiled whene'er their valor won;
And Thou the Power that struck the blow,
Which laid their proud oppressors low:
To thee, oh God! their children raise,
This hallowed day, the voice of praise.
30
Year after year hath worn away,
Since, on this ever-glorious day,
That deed of daring might was done,
Which freed the land of Washington!
'Twas Thou, who nerved the arm that smote!
And Thou, who nerved the hand that wrote!
And Thou, who nerved the tongue that swore
To seal that freedom with its gore!
Since, on this ever-glorious day,
That deed of daring might was done,
Which freed the land of Washington!
'Twas Thou, who nerved the arm that smote!
And Thou, who nerved the hand that wrote!
And Thou, who nerved the tongue that swore
To seal that freedom with its gore!
Then went the shout, all far and free:
—No longer bend the suppliant knee!
No longer cower beneath the nod
Of man—nor bow to aught but God!
Rise! swerve not till the work be done—
Till brighter still shine Valor's sun!
Death to the traitor, and the slave!
—For Country—Freedom—or the grave!
—No longer bend the suppliant knee!
No longer cower beneath the nod
Of man—nor bow to aught but God!
Rise! swerve not till the work be done—
Till brighter still shine Valor's sun!
Death to the traitor, and the slave!
—For Country—Freedom—or the grave!
Since—many a year hath rolled away,
And still returns this hallowed day:
And still, oh God! this land is free—
And bend its sons to none, but Thee!
And Freedom's torch is in her hand—
Its light illumines every land:
And despots, shuddering and amazed,
Curse this fair land, where first it blazed!
And still returns this hallowed day:
And still, oh God! this land is free—
And bend its sons to none, but Thee!
And Freedom's torch is in her hand—
Its light illumines every land:
And despots, shuddering and amazed,
Curse this fair land, where first it blazed!
| Erato, number I | |