Of him at whom they aim the blow.
Thy peace is wrecked—thy heart is riven—
By her so late thy joy and pride,
And thou a homeless wanderer driven
Upon the world’s tumultuous tide.
Yet doubt not, for amid the throng
There’s many a heart beats warm and high
For him who cannot brook a wrong,
Whose noble soul disdains a lie.
Then hail, Columbia’s gifted son,