Let me be blesséd for the peace I make.'
God grant that old Shakespearean praise may glow,
Columbia, on thy brows most royal so,
Girt with a crown no mortal chances break.
The eagle that from ruined Rome we take
Hath but a pagan heart. His kingdoms go,
That the dove's kingdom still may come, and flow
O'er all the world. Ere the New Century wake,
Make straight her paths, her sweet Triumphal Way,
For not by might and power earth's sorrows cease;
Nor shall the stars in our young banner dim
While in its stripes is set the sign of Him
Who won by sufferance an eternal sway,
The King of Glory and the Prince of Peace.