STROPHE 5

O torn out of thy trance, O deathless, O my France, O many-wounded mother, O redeemed to reign! O rarely sweet and bitter The bright brief tears that glitter On thine unclosing eyelids, proud of their own pain; The beautiful brief tears That wash the stains of years White as the names immortal of thy chosen and slain. O loved so much so long, O smitten with such wrong, O purged at last and perfect without spot or stain, Light of the light of man, Reborn republican, At last, O first Republic, hailed in heaven again! Out of the obscene eclipse Rerisen, with burning lips To witness for us if we looked for thee in vain.