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In days of discord, violence, and crimes,
Her guardians, and her friends, she sees you rise,
Like ancient heroes bold, as humble Christians wise.
She sees no party views your aspects shroud,
No rash resolves your steady course pervert,
And points you high above the arching cloud,
Where round the throne of Him who knows the heart,
Bright watchful seraphs stand, and mark your arduous part.
Ye sages just! the record of these days,
Shall beam afar beyond your last abode,
What now your counsels, or your hands, shall raise,
The sword, the shield, the balance, or the rod,
Will rise before your souls in the dread day of God.
For you the secret prayer to Heaven ascends,
To Heaven for you, assembled hosts implore,
When to the earth the contrite spirit bends,
Or saints the tears of pure devotion pour,
Your names escape their lips, while they their God adore.
