Like a broad blessing breathed from the lips of the Past.
Long years will roll o'er it, and yet every chime
Must unceasingly tell of an era sublime,
And more splendid, more dear than the rest of all Time.
Oh, yes! if the flame on our altars should pale,
Let its voice but be heard, and the freeman will start
To rekindle the fire, while he sees on the gale
All the stars, all the stripes of the flag of his heart.
