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And when I kneel aanch
My thoughts are never free,
Buteling to those on two test and fight
And die for you and ques
And when I pray for victory,

It seems almost a sin

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To fold my
will not help to win.

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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

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'Tis the star-spangled banner; oh, long may it wave

O'er the land of the free, and the home of

the brave!

stand

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THE AMERICAN FLAG.

WHEN Freedom from her mountain-height
Unfurl'd her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there;

And where are the foes who so vauntingly She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,

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,
To hover in the sulphur-smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,

The harbingers of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high,
When speaks the signal trumpet-tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on;
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn,
And as his springing steps advance
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon-mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall,
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,

And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death.

Flag of the seas! on ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home!
By angel hands to valor given;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,

And all thy hues were born in heaven.

For ever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before
us,

With freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And freedom's banner streaming o'er us?

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

AMERICA.

My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,

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-
Land of the noble, free-

Thy name I love;

I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees

Sweet freedom's song:
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break,-
The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God, to Thee,
Author of liberty,

To Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King.

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
grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of
His terrible swift sword:

His truth is marching on.

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