Tis Distance Lends Enchantment To The View,

Triumphal Arch, That Fill'st The Sky When Storms Prepare To Part, I Ask Not Proud Philosophy To Teach Me What Thou Art.

Our Land, The First Garden Of Liberty's Tree-- It Has Been, And Shall Be, The Land Of The Free.

But Sad As Angels For The Good Man's Sin, Weep To Record, And Blush To Give It In.

Men Of England! Who Inheritrights That Cost Your Sires Their Blood.

Love! The Surviving Gift Of Heaven, The Choicest Sweet Of Paradise, In Life's Else Bitter Cup Distilled.