William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
Day of GloryD
Freedom’s banner greets thy ray:
See, how cheerfully they play
With the morning breeze.
On the rocks where pilgrims kneel’d,
On the heights where squadrons wheel’d
When a tyrant’s thunder peal’d
O’er the trembling sea.
In their courses” smite his cars,
Blast his arm, and wrest his bars
From the heaving tide?
On our standard, lo! they burn,
And, when days like this return,
Sparkle o’er the soldier’s urn,
Who for freedom died.
All the echoes of our hills,
All the murmurs of our rills,
Now the storm is o’er;
O, let freemen be our sons;
And let future Washingtons
Rise, to lead their valiant ones,
Till there’s war no more.
By the warrior’s gory breast,
Never let our graves be press’d
By a despot’s throne:
By the pilgrims’ toils and cares,
By their battles and their prayers,
By their ashes,—let our heirs
Bow to thee alone.