No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand

Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the Heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just;
And this be our motto, "In God is our trust;"

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

STARS IN MY COUNTRY'S SKY-ARE YE ALL THERE?

ARE ye all there? Are ye all there,

Stars in my country's sky?

Are ye all there? Are ye all there,

In your shining homes on high?
"Count us! Count us," was their answer,
As they dazzled on my view,

In glorious perihelion,

Amid their field of blue.

I cannot count ye rightly;

There's a cloud with sable rim;
I cannot make your number out,
For my eyes with tears are dim.
O bright and blessed angel,

On white wing floating by,
Help me to count, and not to miss
One star in my country's sky!

Then the angel touched mine eyelids,
And touched the frowning cloud;

And its sable rim departed,

And it fled with murky shroud.

There was no missing Pleiad

'Mid all that sister race;

The Southern Cross gleamed radiant forth,
And the Pole-Star kept its place.

Then I knew it was the angel

Who woke the hymning strain
That at our Redeemer's birth
Pealed out o'er Bethlehem's plain;
And still its heavenly key-tone
My listening country held,
For all her constellated stars

The diapason swelled.

LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY.

OLD IRONSIDES.

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high;
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle-shout,

And burst the cannon's roar;—

The meteor of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her deck-once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below-

No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee:

The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave!
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave:

Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,

The lightning and the gale!

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

E PLURIBUS UNUM.

THOUGH many and bright are the stars that appear
In that flag by our country unfurled,

And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there,
Like a rainbow adorning the world,

Their light is unsullied as those in the sky
By a deed that our fathers have done,

And they're linked in as true and as holy a tie
In their motto of "Many in One.”

From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung
That banner of starlight abroad,

Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung,
As they clung to the promise of God.

By the bayonet traced at the midnight of war,
On the fields where our glory was won,—

Oh, perish the heart or the hand that would mar
Our motto of " Many in One."

'Mid the smoke of the conflict, the cannon's deep roar,

How oft it has gathered renown!

While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore,

Where the cross and the lion went down;

And though few were their lights in the gloom of that hour,
Yet the hearts that were striking below

Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power,
And they stopped not to number their foe.

From where our green mountain-tops blend with the sky,
And the giant Saint Lawrence is rolled,

To the waves where the balmy Hesperides lie,
Like the dream of some prophet of old,

They conquered, and, dying, bequeathed to our care
Not this boundless dominion alone,

But that banner whose loveliness hallows the air,
And their motto of "Many in One."

We are many in one while glitters a star

In the blue of the heavens above,

And tyrants shall quail, 'mid their dungeons afar,
When they gaze on that motto of love.

It shall gleam o'er the sea, 'mid the bolts of the storm,
Over tempest, and battle, and wreck,

And flame where our guns with their thunder grow warm,
'Neath the blood of the slippery deck.

The oppressed of the earth to that standard shall fly
Wherever its folds shall be spread,

And the exile shall feel 'tis his own native sky,

Where its stars shall wave over his head;

And those stars shall increase till the fulness of time

Its millions of cycles have run,—

Till the world shall have welcomed their mission sublime,
And the nations of earth shall be one.

Though the old Alleghany may tower to heaven,

And the Father of Waters divide,

The links of our destiny cannot be riven

While the truth of those words shall abide.
Oh, then let them glow on each helmet and brand,
Though our blood like our rivers shall run;

Divide as we may in our own native land,
To the rest of the world we are ONE.

Then, up with our flag!-let it stream on the air;
Though our fathers are cold in their graves,

They had hands that could strike, they had souls that could dare
And their sons were not born to be slaves.

Up, up with that banner! where'er it may call,
Our millions shall rally around,

And a nation of freemen that moment shall fall

When its stars shall be trailed on the ground.

GEORGE WASHINGTON CUTTER.

“BREAK OUT THE FLAG."

(Written for the Y. M. C. A. at Hyde Park, Massachusetts, on raising a flag, sent up "in stops" and "broken out," after Army and Navy custom, and introducing the fight between the Constitution and Guerriere, off the New England coast, for illustration. In that fight, after the last broadside from the American frigate, the British ship took fire, and the magazine exploded as soon as her crew had been rescued.)

WATCH that ball, to mast-head rising,
Shapeless clump of varied bunting,
Without beauty, shape, or object,
With no seeming use in prospect.
Watch the faces all uplifted,
Outstretched necks and eyes dilated,
Seeing something indistinctly,
Expectant all, so patiently.

Of a story old reminded,
And with its lesson blended,

I see beyond the passing hour,

And call that ball a sign of "power;"*
As Habib's sword, while closely sheathed,
Its magic charm so well concealed,
Thus shall the ball declare its sway
When quick we "break" its veil away.

Armed vessels once on neighb'ring sea
Each other hailed inquiringly;
They rose and fell on ocean swell,
But each refused its name to tell;
And as the needed breeze arose,
Prepared to meet as friends or foes,

They tacked and coursed with even skill,
Obedient to their masters' will.

The "Sword of Solomon," in the Arabian tale, displayed upon its drawn blade the simple word "power," and made its possessor invincible.