8
The spirits of your fathers,
Will start from every wave;
The deck it was their field of fame,
The ocean was their grave;
Where Blake, the boast of freedom, fought,
Your manly hearts will glow,
As you sweep thro’ the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow.
While the stormy winds, &c.
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o’er the mountain-wave,
Her home is on the deep:
With thunder from her native oak,
She queils the floods below,
As she sweeps through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow.
While the stormy winds, &c.
The meteor-flag of England
Must yet terrific burn,
Till the stormy night of war depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then to our faithful manners
The social can shall flow,
Who swept through the deep,
While the stormy winds did blow,
While the stormy winds, &c.
FINIS.
