Where lies thy strength, my Country—where alone?
Let ages past declare—
Nay, let thine own brief history make known,
Thy sure dependence, where.
'Tis not in boasting—that's the poltroon's wit,
The coward's shield of glass,
A coin whose surface, silver's counterfeit,
With fools alone shall pass.
'Tis not in threats—these are the weapons light
Of brutes, and not of men: