AN ODE.O’erthe wild Atlantic wave,Lo the fiends of discord rave;Battle’s bray is heard from far,Battle’s bray is heard from far,To Bellona’s blood-stain’d car,Yoked the maddingsteeds of war:—But no fiend of battle roarsRound Columbia’s happy shores;Peace and plenty, hand in hand,Join to bless her happy land.CHORUS.Laud we then theGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God, who led our fathers o’erTo Columbia’s happy shore.Where th’ embattled host of France,To the kindling war advance,There shall heroes bite the dust,There shall heroes bite the dust,Blood shall tinge the rubrick wavesWhere the fiend of battle raves.Sons of honor, “Sons of soul,”Whom no tyrants can control,Patriotic myriads join,Round fair freedom’s sacred shrine.Ever laud theGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God, who led our fathers o’er,To Columbia’s happy shore.Where Britannia’s sons uniteTo provoke the distant fight,There shall countless heroes fall,There shall countless heroes fall,When the din of battle join’d,Hurtles in the hollow wind.Fiends of horror flit around,Dying heroes strow the ground,Countless ghosts shall wailing goTo the sullen shades below.Laud we then theGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God who led our fathers o’er,To Columbia’s happy shore.May notanarch’shydra form,Thunder his voice, his breath the storm,Desolate our happy land,Desolate our happy land—Mid fell discord’s wild uproar,May no fiend of anarch roar,Call the rugged, meddling throngOf every clime, of every tongue,To light fair freedom’s funeral pyre,And bid her mid the blaze expire.May the graciousGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God who led our fathers o’er,Still protect Columbia’s shore.
O’erthe wild Atlantic wave,Lo the fiends of discord rave;Battle’s bray is heard from far,Battle’s bray is heard from far,To Bellona’s blood-stain’d car,Yoked the maddingsteeds of war:—But no fiend of battle roarsRound Columbia’s happy shores;Peace and plenty, hand in hand,Join to bless her happy land.CHORUS.Laud we then theGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God, who led our fathers o’erTo Columbia’s happy shore.Where th’ embattled host of France,To the kindling war advance,There shall heroes bite the dust,There shall heroes bite the dust,Blood shall tinge the rubrick wavesWhere the fiend of battle raves.Sons of honor, “Sons of soul,”Whom no tyrants can control,Patriotic myriads join,Round fair freedom’s sacred shrine.Ever laud theGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God, who led our fathers o’er,To Columbia’s happy shore.Where Britannia’s sons uniteTo provoke the distant fight,There shall countless heroes fall,There shall countless heroes fall,When the din of battle join’d,Hurtles in the hollow wind.Fiends of horror flit around,Dying heroes strow the ground,Countless ghosts shall wailing goTo the sullen shades below.Laud we then theGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God who led our fathers o’er,To Columbia’s happy shore.May notanarch’shydra form,Thunder his voice, his breath the storm,Desolate our happy land,Desolate our happy land—Mid fell discord’s wild uproar,May no fiend of anarch roar,Call the rugged, meddling throngOf every clime, of every tongue,To light fair freedom’s funeral pyre,And bid her mid the blaze expire.May the graciousGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God who led our fathers o’er,Still protect Columbia’s shore.
O’erthe wild Atlantic wave,Lo the fiends of discord rave;Battle’s bray is heard from far,Battle’s bray is heard from far,To Bellona’s blood-stain’d car,Yoked the maddingsteeds of war:—But no fiend of battle roarsRound Columbia’s happy shores;Peace and plenty, hand in hand,Join to bless her happy land.
O’erthe wild Atlantic wave,
Lo the fiends of discord rave;
Battle’s bray is heard from far,
Battle’s bray is heard from far,
To Bellona’s blood-stain’d car,
Yoked the maddingsteeds of war:—
But no fiend of battle roars
Round Columbia’s happy shores;
Peace and plenty, hand in hand,
Join to bless her happy land.
CHORUS.
Laud we then theGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God, who led our fathers o’erTo Columbia’s happy shore.
Laud we then theGod of Heav’n,
At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,
The God, who led our fathers o’er
To Columbia’s happy shore.
Where th’ embattled host of France,To the kindling war advance,There shall heroes bite the dust,There shall heroes bite the dust,Blood shall tinge the rubrick wavesWhere the fiend of battle raves.Sons of honor, “Sons of soul,”Whom no tyrants can control,Patriotic myriads join,Round fair freedom’s sacred shrine.
Where th’ embattled host of France,
To the kindling war advance,
There shall heroes bite the dust,
There shall heroes bite the dust,
Blood shall tinge the rubrick waves
Where the fiend of battle raves.
Sons of honor, “Sons of soul,”
Whom no tyrants can control,
Patriotic myriads join,
Round fair freedom’s sacred shrine.
Ever laud theGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God, who led our fathers o’er,To Columbia’s happy shore.
Ever laud theGod of Heav’n,
At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,
The God, who led our fathers o’er,
To Columbia’s happy shore.
Where Britannia’s sons uniteTo provoke the distant fight,There shall countless heroes fall,There shall countless heroes fall,When the din of battle join’d,Hurtles in the hollow wind.Fiends of horror flit around,Dying heroes strow the ground,Countless ghosts shall wailing goTo the sullen shades below.
Where Britannia’s sons unite
To provoke the distant fight,
There shall countless heroes fall,
There shall countless heroes fall,
When the din of battle join’d,
Hurtles in the hollow wind.
Fiends of horror flit around,
Dying heroes strow the ground,
Countless ghosts shall wailing go
To the sullen shades below.
Laud we then theGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God who led our fathers o’er,To Columbia’s happy shore.
Laud we then theGod of Heav’n,
At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,
The God who led our fathers o’er,
To Columbia’s happy shore.
May notanarch’shydra form,Thunder his voice, his breath the storm,Desolate our happy land,Desolate our happy land—Mid fell discord’s wild uproar,May no fiend of anarch roar,Call the rugged, meddling throngOf every clime, of every tongue,To light fair freedom’s funeral pyre,And bid her mid the blaze expire.
May notanarch’shydra form,
Thunder his voice, his breath the storm,
Desolate our happy land,
Desolate our happy land—
Mid fell discord’s wild uproar,
May no fiend of anarch roar,
Call the rugged, meddling throng
Of every clime, of every tongue,
To light fair freedom’s funeral pyre,
And bid her mid the blaze expire.
May the graciousGod of Heav’n,At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,The God who led our fathers o’er,Still protect Columbia’s shore.
May the graciousGod of Heav’n,
At whose behest fair peace is giv’n,
The God who led our fathers o’er,
Still protect Columbia’s shore.