The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry!

The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.

The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.

Where the Scriptures speak, we speak; where the Scriptures are silent, we are silent.

Men of England! who inheritRights that cost your sires their blood.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.

For there no yew nor cypress spread their glom But roses blossom'd each rustic tomb.