Ode, on the Fourth of July

Come all ye sons of song, Pour the full sound along, In joyful strains. Beneath these western skies, See a new empire rise, Bursting, with glad surprise, Tyrannick chains.

Liberty, with keen eye, Pierc'd the blue vaulted sky, Resolv'd us free; From her imperial seat, Beheld the bleeding state, Approv'd THIS DAY's debate, And firm decree.

Sublime, in awful form, Amid the whirling storm, The Goddess stood: She saw with pitying eye, War's tempest raging high, Our heroes bravely die, In fields of blood.

High on his shining car, Mars, the stern god of war, Our struggle blest. Soon victory wav'd her hand, Fair Fredom cheer'd the land, Led on Columbia's band, To glorious rest.

Now then, ye sons of song, Pour the full sound along; Who shall controul? For in this western clime, Freedom shall rise sublime, 'Till ever changing time Shall cease to roll!