I.

(BRYANT)

The sun sinks softly to his evening post, The sun swells grandly to his morning crown; Yet not a star our flag of Heav'n has lost, And not a sunset stripe with him goes down.

So thrones may fall; and from the dust of those, New thrones may rise, to totter like the last; But still our country's nobler planet glows While the eternal stars of Heaven are fast.