’Tis her own Jubilee!
Where her ships plough the deep
Let no memories sleep;
Where the thunder hangs mute
Let her cannon salute
Every wave of the sea.
Musicians, whose glory it is to control
Our hearts, and to sunder our cares from the soul,
Strike deep where hope’s solace we seek for in vain;
Strike deep, though of ills hard to bear we complain;