Death certain and quick from every side glancing.
’Tis now the mid-hour of the battle’s dread light;
Oh! faint soldier, say, how goes the fierce fight?
Our broad starry banner, our hope and our pride,
Doth it rise, doth it fall on the mountain’s dark side?
“Amid the cannon’s loud roar and the shriek of the shell,
The wave of fierce battle rolls louder and higher;
Enveloped in smoke, hoarse shouts alone tell
That our hopes are still rushing on through that fire;
But see where it glides up the mountain’s dark side,