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Behold the chief who now commands,
Once more to serve his country, stands -
The rock on which the storm will beat,
The rock on which the storm will beat;
But, armed in virtue firm and true,
His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you.
When hope was sinking in dismay,
And glooms obscured Columbia's day,
His steady mind, from changes free,
Resolved on death or liberty.

Firm, united, let us be,
Rallying round our Liberty;
As a band of brothers joined,

Peace and safety we shall find.

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY

1779-1843

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KEY was born in Frederick County, Maryland, and was educated at St. John's College, Annapolis. When the British bombarded Fort McHenry at Baltimore, in 1814, Key was with the British fleet, having gone there to secure the release of a friend who was held prisoner. All night he watched the battle. When he saw the American flag still afloat the next morning, he sat down and wrote The Star-Spangled Banner, one of the most popular of American patriotic songs.

A volume of Key's poems was published at Baltimore in 1859, with an introductory letter by his brother-in-law, Chief Justice Taney. The volume consists largely of occasional pieces that were not originally intended for publication. They add little or nothing to his fame. The greater part of his life was given to the practice of law in Washington.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER

O SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming –

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Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the clouds of the

fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming!
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?

On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,

As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

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And where is that band who so vauntingly swore

A home and a country should leave us no more?

That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave

From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand

Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, "In God is our trust:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

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CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE

1779-1863

THE author of A Visit from St. Nicholas, a household favorite, was born in New York city and educated at Columbia College. For many years he held a professorship in the General Theological Seminary of the Episcopal Church. A collection of his verse was published in 1844, but he is remembered now almost solely by this Christmas piece, with its brisk movement and cheery temper. It was written for his children at Christmas, and was sent without his knowledge to a newspaper, where it appeared anonymously.

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

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Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

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On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen !
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas, too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks werę like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath ;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly?
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

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A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose ;)
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

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JOHN PIERPONT

1785-1866

PIERPONT was born at Litchfield, Connecticut. After being graduated from Yale, he was successively a teacher, a business man, a lawyer, and finally a Unitarian minister. For twenty-six years he was pastor of the Hollis Street Church, Boston, and was an ardent supporter of the abolition movement a movement very active in the neighborhood of his church. At the age of seventy-six he volunteered as a chaplain in the Civil War, but his age and bodily infirmities prevented much active service. He was appointed to a clerkship in the government service at Washington, a position which he held until his death.

THE EXILE AT REST

His falchion flashed along the Nile;
His hosts he led through Alpine snows;
O'er Moscow's towers, that shook the while,
His eagle flag unrolled, and froze.

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