At Gallia’s threats serenely smile,
And, scorning her dread power, triumphant rule the main.
For this have guiltless victims died
In crowds at thy ensanguined shrine!
For this has recreant Gallia’s pride
O’erturned Religion’s Fanes, and braved the Wrath Divine!
What Throne, what Altar, have we spared
To spread thy power, thy joys impart?
Ah! then, our faithful toils reward!
And let each falchion pierce some loyal Briton’s heart.