The Patriot

The patriot from his walls of brass     Is singing loudly as I pass;     With fearless heart and open eyes,     He shouts the ancient battle cries;     And, where I pause to hear him sing,     A silent crowd is listening.     My country, God bestows by thee     The glory of the world to be     The glory thou alone canst give     To last amid things fugitive.     My country, an ideal form     I see thee splendid in the storm,     Directress of the power divine     That makes the expectant future thine.     My country, all the world shall bow     Before thy peace-conceiving brow,     And all the peoples humbly stand     Submissive to thy blessing hand.     My country, yea, the foes who raise     A tyrant flag shall learn to praise     Thy steadfast love that dares to fight     The horde of Satan for the right.     My country, loveliest, strongest, best,     Thou hast a mission to the rest,     And greater wealth and love shall be     The guerdon of thy ministry.     In every land I hear him sing;     In every land I see him fling     His countrys flag against the skies     And gaze aloft with dazzled eyes;     And then his loud applause rings round     His walls of brass with brazen sound;     And deep below his cheering loud     I mark the murmur of the crowd.