O DARK is the tempest of peril and fear, | |
Oershadowing the torrent, resistless descending | |
From the wilds of the north, in its ruthless career, | |
The harvest and herd from the ravaged fields rending. | |
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But the Sabbath-day dawnsin its hallowd light, | 5 |
Behold the bright arms on yon eminence gleaming, | |
Where the death-threatening battery frowns from the height, | |
And broadly the banner to the light winds is streaming. | |
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They come from their ships, on the dark ocean wave, | |
With the conquering sword, at the victors decree, | 10 |
From the angel-like task of unfettering the slave, | |
To the fiend-like commission of crushing the free. | |
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With the bright smile of triumph they bend to the bay | |
Their lookswhere their pendants exultingly stream, | |
And hail the proud hour, ere the close of the day, | 15 |
When the cross oer the stars shall victoriously beam. 1 | |
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With the proud smile of scorn, to the land then they turn, | |
Where the star-spangled banner their foemen display, | |
And certain of success, impatiently burn | |
To sweep the weak barriers full quickly away. | 20 |
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Yes! smile ye in triumph! the warrior who stands | |
On that deck, where he swears or to conquer or die, | |
In the heart of each comrade a hero commands, | |
With their swords in their grasp, while their trust is on high. | |
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Or recks he thy boasting, who scorning despair, | 25 |
Gives the signal of fight, where his veterans repose: | |
Theres life for your valour, but death for your fear, | |
We triumph as victors, or sink with our foes! 2 | |
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The conflict is past on the lake and the plain, | |
And where does the banner of Britain now wave? | 30 |
Tis beneath the proud stars, where the heaps of the slain | |
To the victors a path for its downfall scarce gave. | |
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And gone is the host of the conquering sword? | |
They fled at that sight, with a pang of dismay, | |
With the spirit of panic all scattered abroad, | 35 |
All melted like snow from the face of the day. | |
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Tis the victory of God! then presume not to wreathe | |
Round the brow of a mortal the badge of his praise; | |
But lowly in heart all thy gratitude breathe, | |
For His arm of defence, in our perilous ways. | 40 |
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But honour the warriors who wielded His sword, | |
As Gideon of old, who the spoiler oerthrew, | |
When he gave, with the force of his heart-stirring word, | |
The force of a host to the arm of a few. | |