"T is but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!
In spite of rock and tempest's roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,

Are all with thee,-are all with thee!

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

AMERICA.

[1832.]

My country, 't is of thee,

Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing;

Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From every mountain-side
Let freedom ring.

My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,—
Thy name I love;

I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees,
Sweet freedom's song;

Let mortal tongues awake,
Let all that breathe partake,
Let rocks their silence break,-
The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God, to Thee,
Author of liberty,

To Thee I sing;

Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by thy might,
Great God our King.

SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH.

"OLD IRONSIDES."

[On the proposed breaking up of the United States frigate "Constitution."]

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: