And, mad with anguish, curse the severing wave.
Queen of the OCEAN, lo! she smiles serene,
’Mid the deep horrors of the dreadful scene;
With heartfelt piety to Heav’n she turns—
From Heav’n the flame of British courage burns—
She dreads no power but His who rules the ball,
At whose “great bidding” empires rise and fall;
In Him, on peaceful plain, or tented field,
She trusts, secure in His protecting shield—
Gallia, thy threats she scorns—Britain shall never yield.