William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
National Song: ‘Ye tars of Columbia, whose glory imparts’Y
New charms to the blessings your valour secures,
O! high be your hopes, and undaunted your hearts,
For the wishes and prayers of a nation are yours.
For your deeds on our foes,
The smile of joy glows,
And the wine-cup of pleasure in bumpers o’erflows:
For the loud trump of triumph swells high with your fame,
And the deeds of your might have ennobled our name.
Whose crimson-tinged sceptre spread wide o’er the wave:
Whose mandate spake laws to the nations afar—
Whose will gave to commerce her mart or her grave.
Joy! joy to the world!
From its awful height hurl’d,
No more shall his banner be proudly unfurl’d;
The sceptre of Albion shall tremble and fall,
And the highway of nations be open to all.
In the breasts of our heroes for freedom who died,
When the might of thy arm on our eagle bestow’d,
Tamed the lion of Britain, array’d in his pride,
Again, on the main,
Where his pride, wont to reign,
Tells the lord of the ocean his boasting is vain,
That Neptune’s wide realms must be free to the brave,
As the swift breeze of evening that ruffles his wave.
Long, long shall the nations delight to proclaim;
Whose valour has tamed the proud tyrant of ocean,
And spoil’d of its glory the boast of his name.
Proud Albion shall cower
When our battle ships lower,
That wither’d the uplifted arm of his power—
That bade the proud boast of his sovereign sway cease,
And quell’d his “omnipotent thunder” to peace.
Now peace to the hero in battle who bled:
Old Time shall delight to embalm his high deeds,
And Glory’s bright halo encircle his head.
Earth’s sordid son dies,
And no aching heart sighs—
Unlamented he falls, unregarded he lies!
But the hero’s last pang shall by angels be blest,
And the tears of a nation shall hallow his rest.
Long, long shall awaken your patriot woes,
When your pensive steps rest on the canonized earth
Where Lawrence, and Ludlow, and Burrows repose!
But, O! from the tomb,
Where their laurel trees bloom,
A bright ray of glory disperses our gloom—
On the swords of our heroes its radiance shall dwell,
Whose hearts are the shrines of their brothers who fell!
The sword of thy Lawrence no longer shall flame:
Raise high the glad voice to the God of our sires,
That heroes still live who have rivall’d his fame.
Let Triumph’s loud songs
Now employ our glad tongues,
In the praise to Hull and Decatur belongs:
And shouts for our Jones and our Bainbridge be given,
Till they ring through the air like the thunders of Heaven.
New charms to the blessings your valour secures—
O! high be your hopes, and undaunted your hearts,
For the wishes and prayers of a nation are yours.
Where the flag of the foe
O’er the ocean shall flow,
Your prowess shall still lay his haughty pride low,
Till Neptune’s wide realms shall be free to the brave,
As the swift breeze of evening that ruffles his wave.