Hail, brother! fling thy
banner
To the billows and the breeze;
We proffer thee warm
welcome
With our hand, though not our knees.
Lord of the main and manor!
Thy palm, in ancient day,
Didst rock the country's cradle
That wakes thy laureate's lay.
The hoar fight is forgotten;
Our eagle, like the dove,
Returns to bless a bridal
Betokened from above.
List, brother! angels whisper
To Judah's sceptred race,
—
"Thou of the self-same spirit,
Allied by nations' grace,
"Wouldst cheer the hosts of heaven;
For Anglo-Israel, lo!
Is marching under orders;
His hand averts the blow."
Brave Britain, blest America!
Unite your battle-plan;
Victorious, all who live it, —
The love for God and man.