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 E twine the wreath of honor
 * Around the warrior’s brow,

Who, at his country’s altar, breathes
 * The life-devoting vow,

And shall we to the Iron Grays
 * The meed of praise deny,

Who freely swore, in danger’s days,
 * For their native land to die?

For o’er our bleeding country
 * Ne’er lowered a darker storm,

Than bade them round their gallant chief
 * The iron phalanx form.

When first their banner waved in air,
 * Invasion’s bands were nigh,

And the battle-drum beat long and loud,
 * And the torch of war blazed high!

Though still bright gleam their bayonets,
 * Unstained with hostile gore,

Far distant yet is England’s host,
 * Unheard her cannon’s roar.

Yet not in vain they flew to arms;
 * It made the foeman know