To the stars bent incipient on our flag,
The beam translucent, neutrifying death,
And raise to immortality the rag.
V
By W—ll——m C—ll—n B—y—nt
The sun sinks softly to his Ev'ning Post,
The sun swells grandly to his morning crown;
Yet not a star our Flag of Heav'n has lost,
And not a sunset stripe with him goes down.
So thrones may fall, and from the dust of those,