Yet 't is not helm or feather,
For ask yon despot, whether
His plumèd bands

Could bring such hands
And hearts as ours together.
Leave pomps to those who need 'em,
Give man but heart and freedom,

And proud he braves

The gaudiest slaves

That crawl where monarchs lead 'em.
The sword may pierce the beaver,
Stone walls in time may sever;
'T is mind alone,

Worth steel and stone,

That keeps men free forever.

O, the sight entrancing.

When once more her hosts assemble,
Let the tyrants only tremble;

Smile they at this idle threat?
Crimson tears will follow yet.


But William said, "He don't deserve
The name of Faith's defender,
Who would not venture life and limb
To make a foe surrender.

For God will be our king this day,

And I'll be general under."

From the Battle of the Boyne.


"Brave boys," he said, "be not dismayed, For the loss of one commander,


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Through parted sea and desert waste, that Power
is still the same ;
He fails not He- the loyal hearts that firm on
Him rely;

So put your trust in God, my boys, and keep your powder dry."


Oliver's Advice.


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But whether on the scaffold high
Or in the battle's van,

The fittest place where man can die
Is where he dies for man!

* Cromwell, on a certain occasion, when his troops were about

crossing a river to attack the enemy, concluded an address with these words: "Put your trust in God; but mind to keep your powder dry."


I must have liberty

Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please.

As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 7.


The Power that led his chosen, by pillared cloud No. Freedom has a thousand charms to show, and flame, That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.



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The Tight Little Island.

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Daddy Neptune, one day, to Freedom did say, “If ever I lived upon dry land,

The spot I should hit on would be little Britain !" Says Freedom, "Why, that's my own island!" O, it's a snug little island!

A right little, tight little island!

Search the globe round, none can be found
So happy as this little island.


We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals
Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung
Of earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

Poems dedicated to National Independence, Part I. Sonnet xvi. WORDSWORTH.


King Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1.


This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise ;

This fortress, built by Nature for herself,
Against infection and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this But bind him to his native mountains more.

Thus every good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart;
And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise,
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies.
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast,
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar

The Traveller.


This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

King John, Act v. Sc. 7.



Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of humankind pass by;
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfashioned fresh from nature's hand,
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,
True to imagined right, above control,
While even the peasant boasts these rights to

Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her Enjoyed the peace your valor won!

And flies where Britain courts the western spring;

Let independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies.
Firm united — let us be,
Rallying round our liberty;
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.

Hail Columbia.

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Hail Columbia ! happy land!
Hail ye heroes, heaven-born band!


Who fought and bled in freedom's cause,

Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, And when the storm of war was gone,


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The National Ode: read at the Celebration in Independence Hall,
Philadelphia, Fuly 4, 1876


O, make thou us, through centuries long,
In peace secure, in justice strong;
Around our gift of freedom draw
The safeguards of thy righteous law
And, cast in some diviner mould,
Let the new cycle shame the old !
Centennial Hymn : International Exposition, Philadelphia,
May 10, 1876.

Long as thine Art shall love true love,
Long as thy Science truth shall know,
Long as thine Eagle harms no Dove,
Long as thy Law by law shall grow,
Long as thy God is God above,
Thy brother every man below,
So long, dear Land of all my love,
Thy name shall shine, thy fame shall glow!

Centennial Meditation of Columbia: International Exposition,
Philadelphia, May 10, 1876.

Who cometh over the hills,
Her garments with morning sweet,
The dance of a thousand rills
Making music before her feet?
Her presence freshens the air,
Sunshine steals light from her face,
The leaden footstep of Care
Leaps to the tune of her pace,
Fairness of all that is fair,
Grace at the heart of all grace!
Sweetener of hut and of hall,
Bringer of life out of naught,

We saw her face in the fiery smoke;
Through toil, and anguish, and desolation,
We followed, and found her
With the grace of a virgin Nation

As a sacred zone around her !
Who shall rejoice

With a righteous voice,

Far-heard through the ages, if not she?

For the menace is dumb that defied her,
The doubt is dead that denied her,

And she stands acknowledged, and strong, and Freedom, O, fairest of all


The daughters of Time and Thought!

Ode to Freedom: Centennial Anniversary of the Battle of Concord,
April 19, 1875.

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on her child;

turned to the Earth, but she frowns


turned to the Sea, and he smiled as of old :
I weeten was the peril of the breakers white and wild,
Sweeter than the land, with its bondage and gold!

Bayard Taylor,


The star of love now shines above,
Cool zephyrs crisp the sea;
Among the leaves the wind-harp
Its serenade for thee.

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