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82 Chasing, like music from the soul of Saul,
 * The doubt that darkens, and the ill that grieves;

And honoring the author’s heart and mind, That beats to bless, and toils to ennoble human kind.

His chaplain-mantle worthily to wear,
 * He fringed its sober gray with poet-bays,

And versed the Psalms of David to the air
 * Of, for Thanksgiving-days;

Thus hallowing with the earnestness of prayer,
 * And patriotic purity of praise,

Unconscious of irreverence or wrong, Our manliest battle-tune and merriest bridal song.

The good the Rhine-song does to German hearts,
 * Or thine, Marseilles! to France’s fiery blood;

The good thy anthemed harmony imparts,
 * “ save the Queen!” to England’s field and flood,

A home-born blessing, Nature’s boon, not Art’s;
 * The same heart-cheering, spirit-warming good,

To us and ours, where’er we war or woo, Thy words and music, !—do.

Beneath thy Star, as one of the ,
 * Land of my lay! through many a battle’s night