Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances!

And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.

Call it not vain: they do not err Who say that when the poet dies Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies.

True love's the gift which God has given to man alone beneath the heaven.

He turn'd his charger as he spake, Upon the river shore, He gave his bridle reins a shake, Said, "Adieu for evermore, my love, And adieu for evermore."

That day of wrath, that dreadful day. When heaven and earth shall pass away.

War is the only game in which both sides lose.