The cannon is mute and the sword in its sheath--
Uncrimsoned the banner floats joyous and fair:
Yet beauty is twining an evergreen wreath,
And the voice of the minstrel is heard on the air.
Are these for the glory encircling a crown--
A phantom evoked but by tyranny's breath?
Are these for the conqueror's vaunted renown--
All ghastly with gore, and all tainted with death?
Bright Star of the West--broad Land of the Free,
The wreath and the anthem are woven for thee!