Till, fold by fold, the broidered Land

To swell her virgin vestments grew,

While Sages, strong in heart and hand,

Her virtue’s fiery girdle drew.

O Exile of the wrath of Kings!

O Pilgrim Ark of Liberty!

The refuge of divinest things,

Their record must abide in thee.

First in the glories of thy front

Let the crown-jewel Truth be found: