"Burnham's American Anthem." [1864]
[Music by Vincenzo Bellini (1801-1835), 1833]
Air adapted from [the opera] "Beatrice di Tendi."
by B. F. Burnham

[Boston, MA]: B. F. Burnham
[Source: civilwardigital.com]

1. Exile, on yon eastern billow,
Roam no more for friendly strand!
Lo, where waves and weeps the willow
O’er a martyred patrot band,
Where uprise the mountains grand,
Forests riven, glories given,
By the yeoman hero’s hand,
Teeming prairies, only spanned
By the blue abyss of heaven,—
Here’s to thee Columbia’s land!
Where an infant natoin
Rallied into station,
And, to God and all creation,
Made the deathless declaration:
“We are and ought to be
The States united, free!
Say, shall we sink in shame?”

CHORUS [sung after each VERSE]
No, never!
We will be true, we’ll dare and do!
Peal on the song from sea to sea,
We stand, the Free!

2. Though no siegeless rampart guard us,
There’s no danger shall appal,
Be one bulwark not debarred us
When the foe shall threaten thrall;
TRUTH’S our shield and Faith our all;
When we falter from her altar,
Heav’n heed not mad error’s call!
Blight the traitor’s hand befal!
Wisdom front whate’er assault her,
Firm as China’s northern wall!
Bigot guile still spurning,
Placeman wiles unlearning,
TRUTH! as did our sires, we’ll crown her,
With our lives and sacred honor
Thy name, great Washington,
The name that stands alone,
Say, shall we stain its frame?

3. How just Heaven’s arm delivered,
On full many a bloodtracked plain!
How Britannia’s oak we’ve shivered.
On the Lakes and on the Main!
How the RIGHT with Might o’reawes!
With proud eye on noblest scion,
Of her ancient stock and laws,
She has owned our hallowed cause.
And the boasted British lion
Has grown cautious in the claws.
Yet, allhail our mother!
There is not another
Better un the whole creation,
And she’ll cease all usurpation.
Then be we not unjust,
But pledge our filial trust.
Say, shall we hoard the blame?

4. With our starry ensign waving,
Who shall curb our onward way?
Ev’ry sea our prows are braving.
Every shore doth hail our sway.
Welcome here each form that’s man!
We’ll not double Time’s old trouble
By abhorent rand or clan;
Be the leader of our van,
Not who boasts a titled bubble,
But who march the fastest can!
*Exile, here’s thy haven,
Here thou art no craven.
Europe’s despute and commotion,
Leave behind a bounding ocean!
The Sunset Continent’s cope
Fire up thy faith and hope!
Say, shall we quench the flame?