God Made The Country, And Man Made

Admirals Extolled For Standing Still, Or Doing Nothing With A Deal Of Skill.

England, With All Thy Faults I Love Thee Still, My Country!

For 'tis A Truth Well Known To Most, That Whatsoever Thing Is Lost, We Seek It, Ere It Comes To Light, In Every Cranny But The Right.

When From Soft Love Proceeds The Deep Distress, Ah! Why Forbid The Willing Tears To Flow?

Whoever Keeps An Open Ear For Tattlers Will Be Sure To Hear The Trumpet Of Contention.