Making new bondage sweet.
Bless us today, O Mother.
Hark, how the bells are chiming,
How wind the horns, how cymbals clash,
And a chorus, in might volume timing,
To tramping beat that never lags!
Heavily booming the cannons flash,
And the air is thrilled with the snapping flags!
Where passed the grim Briton with venturing prow
In the cycles fled,