The flags of war like storm birds fly, The charging trumpets blow;
Yet rolls no thunder in the sky, No earthquake strives below
And, calm and patient,
Nature keeps Her ancient promises well,
I'll tell of the Battle of Hastings,
As happened in days long gone by,
When Duke William became King of England,
And 'Arold got shot in the eye
It is not over yet-the
Where those immortal dreamers failed
They stormed the citadels of night,
And the night praised them-and prevailed
The night was passing, and the Grecian host By no means sought to issue forth unseen
But when indeed the day with her white steeds Held all the earth, resplendent to behold,
First from the Greeks the loud-resounding din Of song triumphan...
Ye sons of Great Britain,
I think no
To write in praise of brave General Graham
Whose name will be handed down to posterity without any stigma,
Our flag is proudly floating On the land and on the main,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom
Beneath it oft we've conquered,
And we'll conquer oft again
The Deed of Blood is o'er
And, hark, the Trumpet's mournful breath Low murmurs round it a Note of Death— The Mighty are no more
How solemn slow that distant Groan
— O, could
Here, in my rude log cabin,
Few poorer men there be Among the mountain ranges Of Eastern Tennessee
My limbs are weak and shrunken,
White hairs upon my brow,
Lord of this blood-drenched battle plain,
Lord of the foe our hands have
Glory to Thee amidst the dead,
That Thou hast still Thy people led,
Now haste thee while the way is clear,
Paul Revere
Haste,
Dawes