II.
When Tyranny came, his fierce lions aloft
Told the instinct that burned in his cohorts of mail—
But our eagles swooped down, and the battle-field oft,
Was the grave of the foeman,—stern, ghastly and pale.
The cloud of the strife rolled darkly away—
And the carnage-fed wolves slunk back to their den—
While Peace shone around like the god of the day,
And shed her blest light on the children of men.
Bright Star of the West—broad Land of the Free!