The patriot from his walls of brass br Is singing loudly as I pass; br With fearless heart and open eyes, br He shouts the ancient battle cries; br And, where I pause to hear him sing, br A silent crowd is listening. br br My country, God bestows by thee br The glory of the world to be br The glory thou alone canst give br To last amid things fugitive. br br My country, an ideal form br I see thee splendid in the storm, br Directress of the power divine br That makes the expectant future thine. br br My country, all the world shall bow br Before thy peace-conceiving brow, br And all the peoples humbly stand br Submissive to thy blessing hand. br br My country, yea, the foes who raise br A tyrant flag shall learn to praise br Thy steadfast love that dares to fight br The horde of Satan for the right. br br My country, loveliest, strongest, best, br Thou hast a mission to the rest, br And greater wealth and love shall be br The guerdon of thy ministry. br br In every land I hear him sing; br In every land I see him fling br His country’s flag against the skies br And gaze aloft with dazzled eyes; br And then his loud applause rings round br His walls of brass with brazen sound; br And deep below his cheering loud br I mark the murmur of the crowd.