Chasing, like music from the soul of Saul,
The doubt that darkens, and the ill that grieves;
And honoring the author’s heart and mind,
That beats to bless, and toils to ennoble human kind.
XXXIV.
His chaplain-mantle worthily to wear,
He fringed its sober gray with poet-bays,
And versed the Psalms of David to the air
Of Yankee-Doodle, for Thanksgiving-days;
Thus hallowing with the earnestness of prayer,
And patriotic purity of praise,
Unconscious of irreverence or wrong,
Our manliest battle-tune and merriest bridal song.
XXXV.
The good the Rhine-song does to German hearts,
Or thine, Marseilles! to France’s fiery blood;
The good thy anthemed harmony imparts,
“God save the Queen!” to England’s field and flood,
A home-born blessing, Nature’s boon, not Art’s;
The same heart-cheering, spirit-warming good,
To us and ours, where’er we war or woo,
Thy words and music, Yankee-Doodle!—do.
XXXVI.
Beneath thy Star, as one of the Thirteen,
Land of my lay! through many a battle’s night
