To the hearts of these lone hills;

When the spear in conflict, shakes,

And the strong lanee, shivering, breaks.

"' Take thy banner; and, beneath

The war-cloud's encircling wreath,

Guard it—till our homes are free—

Guard it—God will prosper thee!

In the dark and trying hour,

In the breaking forth of pow'r,

In the rush of steeds and men,