Poetry for the Fourth of July


Researched by James R. Heintze. American University, Washington, D.C.


"Ode on the Anniversary of American Independence. (Set to musick, and performed at the Chapel, in Boston, on Wednesday last.)." "Parnassian Flowers," Salem Mercury, 10 July 1787, 4.
All hail! Sublime she moves along,
Ten thousand virtues in her train.
To heaven shall burst th’ exalted song;
And trembling seraphs catch the strain.

Hail, queen of dignity and ease---
Illustrious Independency!
Thy smile ensures eternal peace;
Thy ways are ways of liberty.

At thy approach, Oppression dies,
The haughty tyrant bows his head;
Bright Lucifer has lost the skies,
And mingles with the mighty dead.

For thee, blest power, have all conspir’d,
The strength of arts and arms to prove;
Ev’n Washington the battle fir’d—
And Franklin curb’d the bolt of jove.

All hail! The flow-ry-footed Spring
For thee shall breathe her odours round;
For thee the morning stars shall sing,
And Pleiades bless the teeming ground.

The white-wing’d hours for thee shall dance
In sweet rotation, every gay;
’Till Time’s last trumpet shall advance
Thy votaries to the climes of day.


"On the Anniversary of the Independence of the United States, 1790." Federal Gazette, and Philadelphia Evening Post, 7 July 1790, 3; New-Jersey Journal, 7 July 1790, 3.
Let the poets of Europe write odes on their king
Or their musical notes raise so high,
The birth-day of freedom we ever will sing
And rejoice on the Fourth of July.

No proud, haughty monarch can here bear the sway
Since tyranny now we defy;
Fair liberty ushers this joyful glad day,
And proclaims ’tis the Fourth of July.

May Columbians united, preserve and protect
The blessings on which they rely,
Nor with shameful indifference ever neglect
To remember the Fourth of July.

This day be it sacred to freedom and peace,
Festivity, friendship and joy;
May our land in prosperity ever encrease
And be bles’d on the Fourth of July.
July, 1790. S.W.Z.


"A Favorite Song. Sung on the Fourth of July, by a number of the true Sons of Columbia. Tune, 'God save Great Washington.'" The Mail; or, Claypoole's Daily Advertiser, 8 July 1791, 2.
All hail auspicious day,
To thee we homage pay,
And bless thy Name:
Long may thy gifts divine,
In our fair annals shine,
Whilst hearts and hands combine
To raise thy Fame.

Columbians all rejoice,
And with a cheerful voice
Welcome this day:
In songs of Praise abound,
And tell the World around,
That Joys alone are found
In Columbia.

Sweet Peace and plenty's store,
Sit smiling on our shore,
Blessing the Land;
While Union great is seen,
With placid heart and mien,
Driving contentious Spleen,
Far from our strand.

This happy day be giv'n,
A grateful lay to Heav'n,
For mercies shewn:
To the Supreme above,
Let's join in Songs of Love,
Our gratefulness to prove,
With Washington.

'Twas Washington the bold,
Who spurn'd to be controul'd,
Bade us be free:
His Independent heart,
Perform'd a Parent's part,
And drove from us the smart,
Of Tyranny.

Long may that great man live,
While we do praises give,
To Freedom's Son;
May he on earth be found,
With wealth and honor crown'd,
While all the States around,
Bless Washington.

The wide extended Earth,
Beheld Columbia's birth,
July the Fourth;
Now fifteen Suns have flown.
Since Independence shone
Bright o'er our gentle zone,
From South to North.

Now to conclude my Song,
Come all true Hearts along,
And hail the Day;
May it forever shine,
And prove our rights divine,
To bless the Day.


"Independence, an Ode." The Mail; or, Claypoole's Daily Advertiser, 17 July 1792, 2.

Bowing, immortal Liberty, to you,
Close at our Hearts, and ever in our View;
In whom all Graces, all Perfection meet,
Our annual Strains we once again repeat!


Far hence be clamourous Pleasure driven;
And all intemperate Mirth!
We hail the noblest Gift of Heaven!
We sing the Pride of Earth!
To Liberty the Strains we raise,
Lov'd by the Brave and Wise!
And as we sing her sacred Praise,
Licenciousness despise.


Be this the subject of our Lay:
And let it sound throughout the Land--
What Citizen will not obey,
When virtuous Citizens command?


Their worth and valor gratefully we own,
Who fix'd bright Independence on her Throne.
He who rejects the real Patriot's Plan,
Sinks to a sordid Brute, the gallant Man.


We fought and we conquer'd our Foes, Sir;
We will fight and will conquer again;
May all who would Tyrants oppose, Sir,
Their lov'd Independence retain!
Of Patriots a generous Band, Sir;
Our Sweet-Hearts, our Children our wives,
We sav'd from Oppression's vile Hand, Sir,
And still will defend with our Lives.


Be this the subject of our Lay;
And let it sound throughout the Land--
What Citizen will not obey,
When virtuous Citizens command?


"Ode for Independence, 1793. Composed and set to music by Dr. Willard." Printed in Nathan Williams, A Sermon, Delivered in Stafford, on the Anniversary of American Independence, July 4th, A.D. 1793. Hartford: Hudson and Goodwin, 1793.
Behold! the glorious day appears!--
A blissful sound salutes our ears--
This happy morn gave Independence birth:
Columbia, rouze! with joy supreme
Dwell on the blest delightful theme.
Proclaim your joy to all the wondring Earth.

All hail! thous highly favor'd land!
See freedoms blessings wide expand--
See smiling plenty crown thy fertile fields:
For thee shall blow the gentle gales--
For thee shall swell the whitening sails--
To thee old Ocean his rich treasure yields.

As Arteries and Veins convey
The purple tide of life, and stray
In num'rous windings thro' the human frame:
So thy fair rivers prove the source
Of joyous plenty thro' their course,
And are the life-blood of thy wealth and fame.

Lo! meek-ey'd peace, with lenient hand,
Waves o'er they plains her olive wand,
And mildly bids War's rude commotions cease:
While Europe's guilt-stain'd barb'rous realms
A mighty sea of blood o'erwhelms,
And death's vast Empire finds a swift increase.

May gratitude to Heav'n inspire
Each heart with pur devotions fire,
While Independence rises to the view;
Columbia, venerate that power,
Which cheer'd thee in thy darkest hour,
And with thy joy thy songs of praise renew.

Behold! the glorious day appears--
The Birth-day of revolving years--
The day that gave to Independence birth:
Columbians, rouze! with joy supreme
Think o'er the blest, enchanting theme,
And shout your transports thro' the listning Earth.

"Mr. Brown, the following was composed for a select company, and intended to be sung on the Fourth of July; if you think a corner of your paper would not be improperly filled therewith, it is very much at your service." Federal Gazette, and Philadelphia Evening Post, 12 July 1793, 2.

While loud Bellona's thunder roars,
Involving Europe's troubled coasts,
And tottering Britain madly pours;
On France her half despairing hosts:
To Freedom let us string the lay,
To welcome this auspicious day.

Like Israel's captive sons opprest,
Our broken harps unheeded lay,
Till Heav'n inspir'd each patriot breast,
To spurn the tyrants iron sway:
Let us again those strings employ
And tune them loud to songs of joy.

For high on Fame's magestic roll,
Columbia's honor'd name shall live,
Till final fate shall snatch the feroll
And ruin o'er creation drive;
And heaven & earth to nothing past,
At the last trumpet's awful blast.

Yet then in the aetherial space;
(Surviving ev'n the shock of fate,)
The spirits of the just will trace,
The grand event and smile elate:
Applauding Saints with rapture tell,
What heroes fought, what heroes fell.

For Heaven has blest the righteous cause
And led us with its own right hand,
Strength'ned our power, inspir'd our laws,
And scatter'd blessings o'er the land,
Inform'd our souls with freedom's flame,
And made us heirs of death less fame.

Then while the race to man assign'd
A part of its career yet runs,
Let each returning season bind,
In firmer love Columbia's sons
And liberty be understood,
Life's sovereign, substantial good.

And still as this unequall'd day,
Revolves with each revolving year;
May we with equal rapture say,
That liberty's asylum's here;
And swear to guard her sacred laws,
Or yield our lives in such a cause.

"Song." Sung at Portland, Maine, at an assembly at the meeting house of the first parish. "Mr. Fosdick," the Chairman of the Committee, presided at the dinner and sang the song below. Columbian Sentinel, 13 July 1793, 2.
God save Columbia's son! God bless great Washington!
Crown him with bays!
Shout, shout, America--
Wide over earth and sea,
Shout in full harmony,
Washington's praise!

When Britain took the field,
Then his strong arm repell'd--
Fought and subdued:
Now all victorious,
Mighty and glorious
He presides over us,
Great, just, and good!

Raise, then, to Heav'n, the Song!
Pour in full tides along,
Gratitude's strains!--
Say, thou'rt our strength and stay--
Still we'll confess the sway--
Whilst over America
Washington reigns!


At Rev. Dr. Deane’s meeting house in Portland Ode "composed by a citizen for the occasion, and set to musick by Mr. Herrick, was intended to have been performed, but was omitted." Eastern Herald [Portland, ME], 6 July 1795, 3.
Ode to Independence
Strike, strike, with joy, the festive lyre,
On this auspicious day;
Let Seraph Genius play,
And, as the chords rebound,
Spread thrilling raptures round,
Awake Attention’s hallow’d fire,
And every soul inspire.

Columbia’s Muse revives, anew,
The memorable morn,
When Independence, born,
Rid Genius of his chain,
And Worth’s brave sons, of pain,
And op’d fair prospects to the view,
Where Peace and Plenty reign.

Science then barsting from the gloom,
Caus’d Virtue’s gud to bloom,
And spread her fost’ring beams;
While Art, with countless schemes,
Fram’d Industry her loom,
And show’d the wondrous works, refin’d,
Of Man’c capacious Mind.

Grim Superstition hid his head,
And chiritable [sic] Love
Descended from above;--
The Tyrant Spirit fled,
And Freedom selzed the rein; While Taste improv’d, the Graces led,
And Horror bit his chain.

Thrice happy! Patriots here may scan
The various rights of Man,
While Foreign Factions rise;
Copy their country’s guide,
Of War and Peace the pride,
Tread Fame’s bright path to gain the prize,
And seek approving skies.

"From the Dartmouth Eagle. An Ode composed and set to music, for the celebration of the Anniversary of American Independence." "Parnassian Blossoms," Amherst Journal and the New-Hampshire Advertiser, 14 August 1795, 4.

Columbians join in the festival lay,
Let Paeans triumphant to Liberty rise,
The Fourth of July is the auspicious day,
The Goddess of Freedom came down from the skies!


The glorious fourth of July,
Is noted in archives on high,
It shall be our festival day,
Till earth in a blaze rolls away!

This day by the Almighty the mandate was giv’n
"Mankind shall no longer in slavery be bound;"
Columbia's Sages, the favourites of heav'n,
Proclaim'd the glad tidings to nations around.
The glorious fourth of July, &c.

When Albion strove the decree to oppose,
With armies of ruffians than tigers more fell,
Thy heroes Columbia, vanquish'd our foes,
And Washington baffled those minions of hell!
The glorious fourth of July, &c.

For Freedom we fought, when the stern fiends of war,
With Discord's hoarse clarion sounded alarms;
When Faction's curs’d Demon drove Death's dreary car, And Horror loud shriek'd, mid the clangor of arms!
The glorious fourth of July, &c.

Tho' many have fallen on War's bloody plain,
We still may be joyous the fourth of July,
The virtuous host, that for Freedom were slain, With Warren, and Mercer, are happy on high!
The glorious fourth of July, &c.

See Liberty's banner, in France proudly wave,
And myriads of Freemen, await her command!
But Anarch's curs'd fiends, mid the populace rave,
And coalese'd despots, spread death o'er the land!
The glorious fourth of July, &c.

Ye Viceroy's of hell, against Freedom combin'd,
May the thunders of Justice against you be hurl'd—
That ye trample no more on the rights of mankind,
Nor deluge with blood, the European world!
The glorious fourth of July, &c.

May Freedom’s fair Goddess, extend her domain,
From the ocean far west, to Japan's eastern shore;
May plenty and peace ever smile in her train,
Till the last trump announce—that time is no more!

The glorious fourth of July
Is noted in archives on high—
It shall be our festival day,
Till earth in a blaze rolls away!


"A Song for the Fourth of July, 1796, Composed at Patterson. Tune—'Nature's Holiday.'" "Poet's Corner," Centinel of Freedom, 9 November 1796, 4.
Well met, ye sons of Liberty,
Well met once more to hail the Day
When Independence paved the way
To Freemen's Glorious Holiday.

Holiday, Holiday, this is Freemen's Holiday,
We'll dance and sing, and sport and play,
For this is Freemen's Holiday.

In mem'ry of the day and year,
Let our loud cannon shake the sphere;
A fue-de-joy our lines display,
To welcome Freemen's Holiday.
Holiday, &c.

By blood of heroes slain, 'tis said,
Our Rights secure and free were made;
Let not their memory fade away,
But keep for them this Holiday.
Holiday, &c.

Now since secure they settled are,
Of monarchs and their wiles beware,
Who seek our country to betray,
And mar our social Holiday.
Holiday, &c.

Ye slavish fools, we feel for you,
Although you're of a hellish crew,
Because with us you cannot say,
You join in Freemen's Holiday.
Holiday, &c.

If any here shou'd take the hint,
Why let him through his fingers squint,
For sure he dare not look on day,
Who joins not in this Holiday.
Holiday, &c.

Well met again, we greet each friend,
In social glee this day to spend,
To Washington we'll drink and say,
Huzza for Freemen's Holiday.

Holiday, Holiday, O this is Freemen's Holiday,
To Washington we'll drink and say,
Huzza for Freemen's Holiday.


"The following song, composed and sung by a member of the corps, was received with loud applause." The "corps" was the Philadelphia Volunteer Company of Grenadiers commanded by Major Thomas L. Moore. The Volunteers had marched in Philadelphia on July 4, 1798, to Bush-Hill where they shared in dinner and presented toasts. The Daily Advertiser, 9 July 1798, 2.
Verse 1.

Come all Grenadiers let us join hand in hand,
And swear by our country most truly to stand;
Round the banners of Liberty manfully range,
Resolved to preserve it unblemish'd by change.
And should our proud foes in their insults persist,
Their arts as their arms we will firmly resist,
For our glorious freedom we drew with our breath,
And with it we'll keep it unsullied till death.

Verse 2.

Our cause truly noble, and honour our guide,
The defence of our country, the leader [?] be our pride,
Determined her dear independence to guard,
In her happiness only we'll seek our reward.
For her every labour endured will be sweet
For her every danger we'll cheerfully meet,
For our glorious freedom we drew with our breath
And with it we'll keep it infulded till death.

Verse 3.

From our father who gain'd it our freedom we hold
And it ne'er by their sons shall be cowardly sold.
To guard it our fortunes shall freely be spent
But to buy it, Columbians will ne'er give a cent.
Then let it by Frenchmen be well understood
That if we must purchase, our price is, our blood.
For our glorious freedom we drew with our breath,
And with it we'll keep it unsullied till death.

"The Song. Tune--God save the King." The Oracle of the Day, 7 July 1798, 3.
All hail auspicious day
Which from despotic sway,
Columbia freed.
Crown high the sparkling bowl,
Let strains of music roll,
Wine open ev'ry soul,
Pir'd with the deed.

When Freedom's sons oppose,
Vain are whole hosts of foes,
Tyrants must fall!
Hence late posterity,
Shall with one voice agree
Union and Liberty
Still vanquish all!

Pallas our legions taught,
Vengeful Bellona fought,
Mars led the van!
Neptune his trident lent,
Phoebus his arrows sent,
While Jove's own thunders rent
Air, earth and main!

Long was the combat wag'd,
Death and destuction rag'd,
Fields float with gore!
Two hostile armies yield,
Captur'd, and pris'ners held,
'Till the proud foe compell'd,
Gave the strife o'er!

No vulgar prize was fought,
Each brave Columbian fought,
Freedom or Death!
Loud swell the [?] strain,
Reign, Independence! reign!
Thy empire we'll maintain
With our last breath!

If such brave deeds were done
Under great Washington
By infant hands.
Like a young Hercules,
Curbing with matchless ease
The Hydra of the seas,
In swaddling bands!

What can we not perform,
With strength and vigour warm,
To manhood grown?
Since Independence birth,
Conscious of Freedom's worth,
We dread no pow'r on earth,
No Master own!

Tho' proud, imperious France,
Vaunts her Omnipotence,
Own no supreme.
With magnanimity
We the vain boast deny,
And with one voice defy,
Her impious claim!

Gird on your falchions then,
Columbia's hardy men,
Brave land and sea!
Think on your former fame!
Washington's mighty name,
And rush in great Adams' flame
To Victory.


"The Newport Republican Hymn, for July 4th, 1801." The Guardian of Liberty, 11 July 1801, 4.
Hark! notes melodious fill the skies
From Thetis' lap Apollo rise,
Thy swift wheel'd chariot speed, thy swift wheel'd chariot speed amain!
O'er fleeting coursers, fleeting courfers loose the rein,
The blushing hours impatient stand!
The virgin day wait thy command.


Awake O Sol! and lead from Ethers sphere,
In pomp of bridal joy the wedded year,
In pomp, in pomp, in pomp of bridal joy the wedded year.

And as the golden Can of Light,
Refulgent beams on mortal sight,
As fiery steeds (which oft times lave
Their winged feet in oceans wave)
Ascend above the mantling deep,
And rapid gain th' Empyrean steep.

Let slumbering nations rise and loud prolong,
To days celestial Prince the choral song.

Columbia heard the high behest,
Her freeborn millions smote their breast,
Till freedom breath'd impassion'd fire
And silent slept the heaven strung lyre,
Till virtue form'd the hallow'd sound,
And Fame enraptur'd roll'd it round.

All hail to freedom's virtues, glorious son,
Ye worlds repeat, repeat 'tis Jefferson.

European kingdoms caught the strain,
From mount to vale from hill to plain,
Triumphant shouts with one acclaim,
Re-echoing swell'd the trump of Fame,
All hail! the Galic peasant cries!
The cloister'd Monk, the Nun replies,

Illustrious chief, great patriot, sage, 'twas thine
To pour on France the flood of light divine.

What notes are these? how grand, sublime,
'Tis Freedom's song in afric's clime,
The wretch, the slave, whom fetters bound,
Exulting hears the joyful sound,
Extatic transports fire his soul,
And greateful paeans hourly roll.
For thee alond he hails the rising dawn,
The friend of man in Jefferson was born.

Lo! Asia joins the notes of praise,
Her myriads dream of halcyon days,
When holy truth with Eagle ken
Shall scan the rights of fellow-men,
When impious Tyrants hurl'd from power
No more shall spoi Industry's flower.

But perfect freedom gild her evening sun,
And glow with cloudless beams like Jefferson.

Hail favor'd land, the pride of earth,
All Nations hail Columbia's birth:
From Europe's realms to Asia's shore,
Or where the Niger's billows roar;
On Eagle plumes the deeds shall fly,
And Long as Sol adorns the sky,

Ten thousand thousand clarion tongues proclaim
The Gold-like Jefferson's immortal name.

Oh rapid post, ye rolling years,
Revolving swift through circling spheres,
And haste along the promised time,
When Liberty from clime to clime,
With sacred peace and union join
And virtue blessing human kind,

Shall equal bliss diffuse beneath the Sun,
And every Nation boast a Jefferson.

"Ode for the Fourth of July. Tune, 'Rule Britannia.'" Columbian Courier, 19 June 1801, 4.
Shades of Columbia's patr'ot band,
Who, for our glorious freedom bled,
And from Britannia's tyrant hand
The captive sons of slav'ry free'd,

Chorus.--Bless this festive social morn--
Independence still adorn.

From Albion's proud disdainful shore,
We feel no fear of sword or chain;
For sore oppression shall no more
Inflict the wounds of death or pain.

Bless, &c.

The storms of war, no more we know--
The pangs of anguish or distress--
The scenes of sorrow, grief and woe
Are chang'd to scenes of joy and bliss.

Bless, &c

The Gallic-tribe, who captive bound
The virt'ous vot'ries of the brave,
Tho' arm'd with venom, ne'er shall wound
The sons, that patriot love can save.

Bless, &c

Such matchless rays of love divine,
And truth and justice bear the sway
Hail sons of Virtue--thou shalt shine,
And Freedom's temple ne'er decay

Bless this festive, social morn--
Independence still adorn.


"The following is one of the songs composed for the military celebration in this town, on the present joyful anniversary. Its easy wit and humor, sported in the merry old tune of Yankee Doodle, cannot fail to swell the mirth of the festive board, at the same time that they entitle it to a more extensive circulation than what its author destined it for. Newburyport Herald, 25 July 1806, 4; Republican Spy, 30 July 1806, 4; "From the Salem Gazette," as printed in Otsego Herald, 31 July 1806, 4. Also published in the Connecticut Herald, 5 August 1806, 4.
A Song for the 4th July, 1806." Tune, Yankee Doodle.

Yankee Doodle is the tune
Americans delight in;
'Twill do to whistle, sing, or play,
And just the thing for fighting.

Yankee Doodle, Boys, Huzza!
Down outside, up the middle;
Yankee Doodle, fa, sol, la,
Trumpet, drum and fiddle.

Should Great Britain, spain or France,
Wage war upon our shore, sir,
We'll lead them such a woundy dance,
They'll find their toes are sore, sir
Yankee Doodle, &c.

Should a haughty foe expect
To give our boys a caning,
We guess they'll find our boys have learnt
A little bit of training.
Yankee Doodle, &c.

I'll wager, now, a mug of slip, [?]
And bring it on the table,
Put Yankee Boys aboard a ship,
To beat them they are able.
Yankee Doodle, &c.

Then if they go to argusy,
I rather guess they'll find, too,
We've got a set of tonguey blades,
T' out talk 'em, if they're mind to.
Yankee Doodle, &c.

America's a dandy place;
The people are all brothers;
And when one gets a pumpkin pye,
He shares it with the others.
Yankee Doodle, &c.

We work, and sleep, and pray in peace,
By industry we thrive, sir,
And if a drone won't do his part,
We'll scout him from the hive, sir.
Yankee Doodle, &c.

And then, on Independent Day,
(And who's a better right to?)
We eat and drink, and sing and play,
And have a dance at night, too.
Yankee Doodle, &c.

Our girls are fair, our boys are tough,
Our old folks wise and healthy;
And when we've every thing we want,
We count that we are wealthy.
Yankee Doodle, &c.

We're happy, free, and well to do,
And cannot want for knowledge;
For, almost ev'ry mile or two,
You find a school or college.
Yankee Doodle, &c.

The land we till is all our own,
Whate'er the price, we paid it;
Therefore we'll fight till all is blue,
Should any dare invade it.
Yankee Doodle, &c.

Since we're so bless'd, let's eat and drink
With thankfulness and gladness;
Should we kick o'er our cup of joy,
It would be sartain madness.
Yankee Doodle, &c.


"The following Ode was composed for the Company who celebrated on Nation’s Birth-Day in Roxbury, and is from the pen of our admired correspondent Rolla." "Ode for the Fourth of July, 1808. Tune—Rise Columbia.” Essex Register, 9 July 1808, 1.
When Britain, proud and vengeful grown,
To slavery doom’d Columbia’s race,
The bloody mandate, from the throne,
Her myrnadons brought o’er apace.
Then our Fathers swore to be
Heirs to death or Liberty.

But rous’d at Freedom’s glorious call,
And smarting by oppression’s rod,
A heavenly zeal united all—
Their Rights, their Country, and their God.
Then our Fathers swore to be
Heirs to death or Liberty!

Unnumber’d Martyrs seal’d with blood
The sacred Charter of the land;
Who like th’ immortal Spartans stood
When Death or Victory led the band.
A band of Heroes, sworn to be
Heirs to death or Liberty.

And shall they ever be forgot—
Their toils, their dangers, and their death?
No:--o’er each grave-immingled spot


"An Ode, Sung at the celebration of American Independence, July 4th, 1810, at the Third Baptist Meeting-House, Boston." "Poetry," Old Colony Gazette, 13 July 1810, 4.

Kind Heaven returns the glorious morn,
That hail'd these States a nation born!
Thus rank'd with kingdoms of the world,
From Britain's throne the sceptre hurl'd

Nature and nature's God design'd
Freedom and Peace should bless mankind:
But kings and lords their power employ,
These sacred blessings to destroy.

What Man who boasts Columbian birth,
Will bow to tyrants of the earth?
Our Rights or Independence yield
With richest blood of Martyrs seal'd.

Whilst Freemen nerv'd with martial glow
In fields of danger stak'd the Foe:
Adams and Gerry sign'd the Deed
Columbia's Sons from Bondage freed.

When proud Burgoyne with threatening sword,
High in his proclamation soar'd:
Brave Stark reveng'd our Country's cause,
Bound fast this British Lion's paws.

Those Patriot Sires who met their doom,
Address you from the mould'ring tomb:
"Columbians! firm your rights maintain!
Or else we fought and died in vain:

Swear by that Power who rules the fates
Of changing kingdoms, worlds and states,
No tyrants shall possess your soil,
No traitor's arts your freedom soil."

Secured by Heaven's protecting hand,
As brethren, firm, united stand!
With hateful scorn the wretch disdain
Who seeks to break our Union's chain.

May Peace the darling boon of Heaven,
To this long troubled world be given!
Unshackled Commerce spread the seas,
Control'd no more by Man's Decrees.

May Friendship's blest Millenium rise,
Pure as the sun that gilds the skies!
Till HE who reigns through years the same,
Speaks and dissolves all Nature's frame.


"Ode for the Fourth of July, 1811. By Robert T. Paine, Jun. Esq. Tune—'Battle of the Nile.'" Old Colony Gazette, 19 July 1811, 2.

Let patriot pride our patriot triumph wake!
The Jubilee of freedom relumes a Nation’s soul!
On land, or main, no right of realm forsake,
Tho’ warrior storms, like ocean tempest roll:
Spread your banners, let Commerce, Industry directing,
Mantle the waves, by courage, Wealth protecting:
And new honors while we pay
To our Country’s Natal Day,
Let us build her great renown,
From a soil and sea our own;
For Commerce, Agriculture, Art—rewarded shall be!
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
Heaven gave to Man the Charter to be free.
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
Columbia lives, and claims the great decree.


Arise! Arise! Columbia’s Son’s Arise!
Assert on the ocean, your ocean’s sov’reign law;
No hostile flag shall hover in your skies;
No pirate keep you mariners in awe.
Be the rights of your shores by Cannon Law expounded—
And your waters shall be safe where hook and line are sounded.
On the shoals of Newfoundland,
Let our tars and boats command,
For a mine of wealth you keep
In the Bank beneath the deep,
Whose Charter, awful Charter, is renew’d by every sea.
Huzza! Huzza! &c. &c. &c.


If equal justice neutral laws proclaim,
No pow’r will presumptuous your sovereignty disgrace;
Among your Stars inscribe a Nation’s name,
Your flag will guard our freedom and your race.
Base submission inviting indignity and plunder—
Like a worm, kills an Oak, which should have brav’d the thunder.
Though beneath the rifting ball,
Should the mountain monarch fall,
Still in majesty he reigns,
And though prostrate, rules the plains;
And actions, blooming actions, spring to renovate the tree.
Huzza! &c. &c. &c. &c.


Arouse! Arouse! Columbia’s Sons, Arouse!
And burst thro’ the slumber at faction’s dreaming fears;
Bid Cannons shake the tempests from your brows,
And the clouds shall echo glory on your ears.
When the trumpet of Victory, Independence claiming,
Swell’d o’er your hills from fields in battle flaming;
When the Freedom of the land,
By your Patriotic Band,
To this Temple* was consign’d
’Twas with Washington enshrin’d,
That the Charter, sacred Charter, there immortal should be.
Huzza! &c. &c. &c. &c.

*Alluding to the temple of the United States, represented in the principle embellishment of Faneuil Hall. This elegant national edifice consisted of sixteen pillars, inscribed with the names of the States, and bearing shields, and other trophies. The Dome of the temple was surmounted by the American Eagle. On the altar within the pillars was deposited the Constitution of the United States; above it the bust of Washington.

"An Ode, for the Fourth of July." "Poetry," Independent Chronicle, 27 June 1811, 4.
We hail Columbia’s natal day,
Which gave a free-born nation birth;
Bright may it pour its gladdening ray,
And spread its luster through the earth!

When tyrant power, on British throne,
Would stretch his scepter ‘cross the sea;
Freedom’s bold sons declar’d as one,
"Columbia is and shall be free!"

Indignant at a nation’s wrong,
They drew their sword for doubtful strife,
And mutual pledg’d, with purpose strong,
"Their sacred honor, fortune, life."

Fearless of Britain’s boasted might,
Whilst coward’s shook with wild alarms,
A Hero led them to the fight,
And victory sat upon their arms.

They purchas’d Freedom with their blood,
And Freedom’s Temple rear’d most fair;
Firm has the noble fabric stood,
And still each rude assault will bear.

To all the oppress’d a strong built tower,
Within whose gates fears appal
Of lawless French or British power,
Ne’er may the matchless structure fall.

We give the God of Battles praise;
He was our Father’s sword and shield;
A greatful song let Freemen raise,
And patriot hearts pure incense yield.

"A Federal Hymn, Composed for a Tory mock celebration of July 4th, 1811." "Poetry," Old Colony Gazette, 28 June 1811, 4.
To thee, dear George, our sovereign king,
We now our annual homage bring!
This day our thoughts with grief return,
When we our separation mourn!
True subjects to thy royal cause,
We hate our own, but love thy laws,
When by Embargo we were press'd,
Our mob Resolves the trade redress'd!
Whilst our great nation's council sat,
Stephan with all his Junto met.
As Congress aim'd to hold their right,
They plann'd by day, we work'd by night.
Those murderous deeds which stain'd our shore,
We wish to keep in mind no more,
Tim, Kit and Harry all agree,
"Britain has done no injury!"
Our writers keep our spirits up,
Our printers try to raise our hope,
On British fold they'd smile to trace
The image of their sovereign's face!
When our great chiefs appear'd in field,
We griev'd that British troops should yield.
In secret clubs, we pledg'd this toast:
Destruction to the Rebel host!
If the Old Whigs should hold the ground,
And all our hopeful schemes confound,
To Albion's shores we'll stretch our wing,
There prove how much we love our king.

"For the Fourth of July. Tune--General Wolfe." "Poetry," Independent Chronicle, 4 July 1811, 4.
"A council was held in the chambers of Jove,"
Where millions with millions agree;
A decree was sent forth from celestials above,
That the land of Columbia be free.

The sages were gifted with wisdom and truth,
Whilst justice and equity smil'd:
Our charter of freedom on this day had birth,
Which in heaven's high archives was fill'd.

Then Liberty's Goddess her banner unfurl'd,
Whilst Fame's trumpet proclaim'd her design:
Be it known, cried the Paeans, be it known to the world,
That the sons of Fredonia are mine.

And though discord and hatred united combine,
To destroy both my temple and throne,
With brighter offulgence my glories shall shine,
Until all my dominion shall own.

These truths spoke the Goddess, when Discord and Hate,
Which by Tyrants are ever caressed,
With a yell of despair, and driven by fate,
Fled to regions by freedom unblest.

O Columbians, Fredonians, or whatever name,
Your valour or virtue has won;
Remember while union can raise you to fame,
By disunion your country's undone.

Then cease every jarring, contention and strife,
And celebrate this happy day;
As brother united in a cause dear as life,
Let us drive foreign faction away. "C"

"Ode for the Fourth of July, 1811. By Doct. Peter Bryant. Tune "Rise Columbia"
Peter Bryant was the father of William Cullen Bryant, noted 19th century poet. Source: Columbian Centinel, 13 July 1811.


"An ode for the 4th of July, 1812."
Written by A. Davis of N. Jersey. Source: Independent Chronicle, 16 July 1812, 1. This ode was also printed in the Pittsfield Sun, 25 July 1812, 4.

"A Song for the Fourth of July. By a gentleman of this city [Baltimore]." From the Baltimore Sun, as printed in "Poetry," New Jersey Journal, 7 July 1812, 4.
The Chief who fights in Freedom's cause,
Obeys no king, or regal laws;
But seeks the foe on ev'ry ground,
Till Liberty alone abound;
He knows no fear; he does no wrong
So cheers him with this matin song:
Columbia's arms shall ever be,
The dread of kings and tyranny!

With falcon eye and glitt'ring shield,
Our eagle soars through Mar's field,
Breaking shackles, opening cells,
W'ere tyrants' slave and darkness dwells;
Imparts with pleasure, brilliant stars,
For stripes and scourges, wounds and fears.
Columbia'a arms, &c. &c.

Now let's unite with heart and hand,
As brothers round our Eagle stand;
The world shall see what we have done,
United Millions into One;
In chorus now we do proclaim
Our sentiments are all the same.
Columbia's arms, &c. &c.


"Song for the Fourth of July. Tune--'Hail Columbia.'" Spirit of the Press, 1 July 1813, 1.
Welcome great auspicious day,
Dear to man thy cheering ray,
Where'er thy beams their glories shed
There vile oppression hides his head;
While smiling freedom from her wings
Choice blessings round her children flings;
Behold! how quick at her command,
Advance the patriotic band,
Who ne'er to tyrants bent the knee,
Their motto--death or liberty;
Welcome, welcome, glorious day,
Dear to man thy cheering ray,
Inspir'd by each return of thee,
We'll swear for ever to be free--
Oh! we shall ever hail the day,
The star which shews th' oppress'd their way;
When patriot sages boldly stood
And pledg'd their fortune, honour, blood,
It is decreed--the hills, the plains
Re-echo to the bursting chains!
With mute amaze, and ghastly fear,
The gloomy trembling tyrants hear
Of millions brave, the with'ring cry,
'We're free--we shall be free, or die'--
Welcome, welcome, &c. &c.
Yes--we will swear on that great day,
Which freed us from tyrannic sway,
That hostile foot shall never tread
The tombs were sleep our mighty dead;
Our sacred temples ne'er shall be
The scenes of hostile revelry;
Our fathers mark'd a path of fame--
We'll ever fan the holy flame
Of liberty from shore to shore,
'Till winged time shall be no more--
Welcome, &c. &c.

"Song of Praise. Composed for and sung at the late Anniversary of American Independence in this town [Keene, NH]. Tune--'Old Hundred.'" "The Orchestra," New-Hampshire Sentinel, 10 July 1813, 4.
"Praise waits in Zion, Lord for Thee,"
To Thee we raise our humble lays;
'Tis Freedom's hallow'd day that wake
A nation's joy, a nation's praise.

An awful frown from Heav'n above
Proclaims we've spurn'd our Maker's grace;
Else why should he withdraw his love?
Why from us hide his smiling face!

Eternal pow'r! we bless the rod
That lays our country's honor low;
Raise us to see a smiling God--
Transform to joy, a nation's woe.

Then, who canst boist'rous seas control--
Becalm the surges of the mind;
When jarring passions rack the soul,
A heav'nly peace in Thee we find.

Devolve on us the former days
When peace, and love with justice reign'd--
"Convert the wrath of man to praise,
The residue wait thou restrain."

Then, O Most High! to Thee we'll bring
The grateful off'rings of the year:
And on each Freedom's birth-day sing,
"Columbia's Guardian's always near."


"Ode for the 4th of July, 1814. By W.C. Bryant." "Poetry," New Bedford Mercury, 29 July 1814, 4.
Amidst the storms that shake the land,
The din of party fray,
And woes of guilty war, we meet
To hymn this sacred day.

For all that breathes of ancient worth
Our lingering hope reveres;-
Each print of freedom's sacred steps.-
Each trace of happier years.

Our skies have glowed with burning towns,
Our snows have blushed with gore,
And fresh is many a nameless grave,
By Erie's weeping shore.

In sadness let the anthem flow,-
But tell the men of strife,
On their own heads shall rest the guilt
Of all this waste of life.

But raise, to swell the general song,
Our notes of holiest sound;
And bless the hands which rent the chain
The struggling world that bound.

Lo! Europe wakes the sleep of death-
Her pristine glories warm!
The soul of ancient freedom comes,
And fills her mighty form!

Well have ye fought, ye friends of Man!
Well was your valor shown;
The grateful nations breathe from war,-
The tyrant lies o'er thrown.

Well might ye tempt the dangerous fray,
Well dare the desperate deed;
Ye knew how just your cause--ye knew
The voice which bade you blead.

To thee the mighty plan we owe
To bid the world be free;
The thanks of nations, Queen of Ifles!
Are poured to heaven and thee.

Yes!--hadst not thou with fearless arm,
Stayed the descending scourge;
Those strains, that chant a nation's birth,
Had haply hymned its dirge.

But where was raised our country's hand
Amidst that dreadful strife?
Where was her voice, when hope grow faint,
And Freedom sought for life?

Oh! bitter are the tears we shed.
Columbia! o'er thy shame!
A stain the deluge could not cleanse
Forever blots thy fame.

Nor to avenge a nation's wrongs,
Does power demand our aid;
The sword is bared--but angry heaven
Frowns on the accursed blade,

The men who snatched it from the sheath,
A fearful curse withstands:
The blood of innocence is red
Upon their guilty hands.

Still, to defend our country's shores
We hasten to the field;
And should the foe invade--our ranks
May fall, but never yield.

The day tha sees the victory their's,
Shall look on many a grave;
Our veteran fathers caught their sons
To guard the soil they gave.

Come to thine ancient haunts, and bring
Thy train of happy years,
Oh Peace! the sunshine of thy smile
Shall dry a nation's tears!

From hill and plain, and ocean's verge,
White with the unwonted sail,
Shall burst a boundless shout of joy,
Thy rain renewed, to hail!


"Ode for the Fourth of July, 1815. By Mr. W.C. Bryant. "From the Northampton Gazette." "Poetry," New Bedford Mercury, 21 July 1815, 4.
This festive day when last we kept,
The battle raved along our shore,
And woe in all our borders wept,
But they shall stream with blood no more.

O’er her stain lover’s iron sleep
No more the maid shall pour her tears;
The matron bowed with age may keep
Her child to guard her failing years.

Oh, welcome—as the light restored
To lids in death-like trance long sealed—
The quiet o’er our region poured,
The beach, and silent battle field.

War flies, but on our ravaged bourne,
His footprints traced in gore remain;
And peace is come, but comes to mourn
The ruins of her gentle reign.

It is as when the morning greets,
Serene in smiles and rosy light,
Some prostrate city, through whole streets
The earthquake past at dead of night.

"New song composed for the 4th of July, 1815."
Source: National Intelligencer, 25 July 1815.

"Ode, for the occasion, written by a Lady." "The following Ode was written by a young lady of this town [Boston] for the Republican Celebration at Lexington, on the 4th of July, and was sung in the Meeting-house by Mr. Rawson. It is an elegant and tasteful composition, and deserves the praise of combining noble sentiments with harmonious poetry." "Poetry," The Union,25 August 1815, 4.
Hail! to the birth of America's glory.
Her Genius sounds loudly the trumpet of Fame;
Children, their parents, and grandsires hoary,
Exult in the valor which purchased that name.
Her Heroes have fought again,
Truth and justice to maintain,
Against foreign insult, menace and scorn:
Baltimore and Orleans free,
Have raised the shout of victory,
And offered new genius [?] her temple to adorn.


Supreme are the joys this day will afford ye,
For Freedom has gathered green bays for each Son;
Brothers made captive for vengeance implored thee,
And wept with delight at the battles you won.
A firm and united band,
Freed by your valiant hand,
No tyrant shall force them from Liberty's tree,
With greatful emotion,
They offer devotion,
To the God who protects them on land and by sea.


Who would exchange for a traitor's reflection,
The pride of the Freemen, who bled in our cause?
Whose powers released from disgraceful restriction,
A country directed by virtues best laws.
Their praise shall abound age'n,
From europe's wildest glen,
For honour and mercy rejoice in their fame,
While carnage and plunder,
Have marked British thunder,
And tarnished what lustre might circle her name.


Our statesmen with wisdom have governed the nation,
Avenging the wrongs which their country endured;
To Freedom they offered a grateful oblation,
And peace by their judgement have firmly secured.
Our ships now securely ride,
Over ocean's swelling tide,
Protected by the banner they proudly display.
Ne'er shall it be seen to wave,
Guardian of that sordid slave,
Who, bought by foreign gold, shuns this auspicious day.


The gen'us of Columbia a laurel wreath bears,
For the heroes whose courage her power maintains,
Yet a crown of fresh cypress she mournfully wears,
For the loss which her children but recent sustains.
Blest shade of departed worth,
Smile on your nation's mirth,
O'er clouded by grief, for the statesmen we mourn:
Sure Gerry in realms above,
Will share in our anxous [sic] love,
For the country he cherished but ne'er can rejoin.


This spot which first witnessed columbia's commotion,
Exhorts us to equal in valour and truth,
What we hallow this day, with grateful emotion;
The [?] of champions who guarded our youth.
Here Lawrence, Burroughs, Allen's shades,
And those who fought on freedom's glades,
Unite with the spirits of seventy-five;
To receive the just praises,
Of their country which raises,
Their fame to the portals of Heaven's archive.


"The following elegant songs were composed and sung by Major James N. Barker, on the 4th of July, at Spring Garden." Washington Whig, 29 July 1816, 3.
Hail to the Exile, whose crime was devotion
To Country and honour, to freedom and fame!
Columbia shall welcome, with heart felt emotion,
The noble in worth, the illu[s]trious in name!
We too have met the blow
Aimed by a tyrant foe,
We too have bled our dear country to save,
Here, ev’ry voice shall cry,
Here, ev’ry bosom sigh,
Hail to the exile, the good and the brave!
Land of the stranger! Though shadows enfold thee,
The star of ‘thy glory yet gleams through the night.
And the day shall arise when the world shall behold thee
Radiant in arms, and resistless in might.
Soon from your threat’ning cloud,
Burating abrupt and loud,
The tempest of war on they foes shall be driv’n;
While, mid the scattered horde
Vengeance with flaming sword,
Strikes through the storm like the lightning of Heav’n.
What are those recreants whose treasons betrayed thee!
Shake but thy chains, and the dastards shall flee:
What are the myriads of slaves who invade thee!
The nation that struggles for freedom, is free.
See, where thy warriors speed,
Eager again to bleed,
Again from thy confines to chase the fell band;
Despots in vain conspire
When a people’s ire
Rises determined to rescue the land.


Since a toast you demand, and I can’t say you nay,
I must task my invention to bring one;
But feeling quite sure that I’ve nothing to say,
By your leave, I’ll endeavour to sing one.
But fill, while you may,

That’s the right way,
Or the night will be here, ere we drink down the day.
I’d give you “The Day,” but you’ve had it before;
So some other day I must try, sir;
From our enemy’s back I must vorrow a score
That we marked since the Fourth of July, sir,
Fill while ye man, &c.

Then here’s to the days, were they foggy or fine,
That blushed on our foe’s early follies;
The day that the Yankees Cornwallised Burgoyne,
And the day they Burgoyned poor Cornwallis.
Fill while ye may, &c.

And here’s to the days, which, in fort or on plain,
Lately shone on our rival’s disasters;
And to all the bright days, that, on Lake and on main,
Saw his fleets and his frigates, change masters.
Fill while ye may, &c.

In treating or fighting, we still gain’d the day,
As at Ghent, and elsewhere it appears, sir;
So here’s to the day that we gained in that way,
From John Bull—and the Dey of Algiers, sir.
Fill while ye may, &c.

Here’s the day—But the day would’nt last till I’d done,
Should I go the full length of my tether;
So fill up your bumper, while yet there is sun,
And let’s drink al[l] our days, here, together.
Fill while ye may, &c.

"Ode for the Fourth of July." "Poetry," The Reporter, 24 July 1816, 4.
All hail to the day when fair Freedom arose,
Burst Tyranny's fetters--her Standard here planted!
Its morn rays refulgent of bright glory throws
O'er the tombs of her sons, who with spirits undaunted
Their bosoms made bare,
While the thunders of war
Were spreading destruction and carnage afar,
And swore "o'er Columbia no despot should reign
Till the globe was transform'd into chaos again."

By angels in heaven, (in letters of gold,)
On the tablets of Fate, was their oath soon recorded;
With pleasure Jehovah beheld it enroll'd,
And to seal it forever, his aid he afforded;
By him they excell'd
In council and field;
He made Britain's armies disgracefully yield,
And ordain'd "o'er Columbia no despot should reign
Till the globe was transform'd into chaos again."

Through the regions of light this decree was made known,
And in notes of loud joy the great concave resounded:
"See! Freedom on earth has erected her throne!
By sages and heroes behold it surrounded!
While her banners unfurl'd,
Proclaim through the world,
(Though the Olive she tenders, her Darts can be hurl'd,)
That over Columbia no despot shall reign
Till the earth is transform'd into chaos again."

All hail to the day! be it ever observ'd!
Be our thanks in hosannas to high Heaven wasted;
Then--then shall our arms, like our fathers be nerv'd--
On our hearts shall the virtues of their's be engrafted:
Still, happy and free,
Shall our proud motto be,
"We are lords of the soil--we are lords of the sea."--
An over Columbia no despot shall reign
Till the earth is transform'd into chaos again.
July 4th, 1816.


"Ode on the 4th July, 1817." National Advocate, 4 July 1817, 2.
All hail! to the day, when from anarchy free,
Our fathers asserted the rights of the brave,
And sent this decree o'er the wide rolling sea,
"The home of the valiant shall yet be his grave."

When the myriads of Britain overshadow'd the land,
Then first was discover'd our forefathers' glory;
Then arose, simultaneous! the patriot band,
Whose deeds shall forever be mingled in story.

Ye youths of Columbia! let time not impair
The deeds which from sire to son have descended:
But if tyrants invade you, in unity swear
Their spirit still lives tho' with earth they are blended.

While the Fourth of July shall be sacred to mirth,
May the name of our Washington dwell on each tongue--
His fame kindle glory--his virtues give birth
To acts which to nations unborn, shall be sung.

"Song, Commemorative of the opening of the Richmond Union Hotel, with a public dinner, 4th of July, 1817. Air—Banish Sorrow, Grief's a folly." "Poetry," American Beacon and Commercial Diary, 11 July 1817, 4.

Down the stream of time have glided
Forth Glorious years and one,
Since our sires, by valour guided,
Hailed fair freedom's rising sun.

By its cheering beams enlighten'd,
Firm the gallant band mov'd on,
Till success each eye had brighten'd
And the glorious prize had won.

In the act of Independence
That declared those heroes free,
"We the people," their descendants,
Our distinguish'd birth right see.

Heirs and rivals of their spirit,
We'll preserve it while we breathe,
And our children shall inherit
What our fathers did bequeathe.

Let this day to joy be given,
Brightest of the circling year;
Far let every care be driven,
Bid the train of Mirth appear.

Music, wine and mirthful story,
Round the festive board preside,
Songs of triumph, themes of glory
Raise our spirits and our pride.

Social band of grateful freemen,
While the stars of freedom shine,
Let our soldiers and our seamen
Be remembered in our wine.

Heroes, statesmen, valour, beauty,
All deserve the circling toast;
'Tis to day an act of duty
All our ornaments to boast.

Let us then in gay communion
The convivial chorus raise,
And the prospects of "the Union"
Brighten with our festive praise.

Let the Union's flag unfolding,
Wave in graceful pomp above,
And each patriot eye beholding,
Beam with friendship and with love.


Ode in celebration of the "forty-fourth anniversary of American Independence."
Source: Columbian Centinel, 4 July 1820.
"Original Ode."
Source: Columbian Centinel, 4 July 1820.
Poem written in Tennessee.
Source: National Intelligencer, 11 November 1820


"The following Odes, from the pens of our best gifted and most classic Poets, were sung at the celebration of the fourth of July, in Fanueil [sic] Hall." "From the Boston Centinel." New-Hampshire Patriot & State Gazette, 22 July 1822, 4.
First Ode [by J.H. Pierpont]

Why did the nations rage?
Why with us battle wage
’Twas a vain thing!
Why climb’d our hills their brave?
Sought they a soldier’s grave?
Then what they sought we gave:
God was our King.

When, from our guardian tide,
Queen of the Isle! Thy pride
Homage would wring;
He who heaven’s arrows tips
Speaks in our smoking ships:
"No!"—say their iron lips,
"God here is King."

Peace now, o’er field and flood,
Sails, and no more in blood
Dips her white wings:
Nor on the Moorish plain,
Nor on the mighty main,
Cloaks there a brother’s chain:
God is our King.

Pure as the patriot’s wreath,
Free as the air we breathe,
This day we bring,
From the green earth and sea,
Where dwelleth Liberty,
Incense of praise to Thee,
Great God, our King.

"Second Ode [by N.H. Wright.]"

Like the bow in eastern sky,
When the storm has hurled by,
Glows resplendent from on high,
Freedom’s Jubilee.
Raise aloud the festal strain,
Pledge the memory, yet again, Of the heroes who were slain,
Fighting Valiantly.
When the storm of battle pour’d
Then proud Albion’s tyrant horde
Met the dauntless freeman’s sword,
Flashing Victory.
Sons of heroes who have bled,
O! revere the patriot dead,
Whose best blood, so nobly shed,
Gave you liberty.
Be your altars o’er their tomb.
There let loveliest flowerets bloom,
Breathing holy, sweet perfume,
To their memory.
By the glories of the brave;
By the blood which ting’d the wave;
By the patriot’s hallow’d grave;
Swear you’ll still be free.

"The following beautiful ode, written by O.W.B. Peabody, Esq. of Exeter, was sung by Mr. S.T. Gilman, at the late celebration in that town." "Ode for the Fourth of July. Tune—‘Ye Mariners,’ &c." New-Hampshire Patriot & State Gazette, 22 July 1822, 4.
Ye freemen of New-England,
Your country calls to you;
Your sires were in the foremost ranks
Of the gallant and the true.
Their burning hearts and red right hands
Her standard proudly bore—
Is that fire
To inspire,
Your manly souls no more?
Oh! wake the memory of the dead
Or you are free no more.

Have you not hopes and glories
To number and rejoice?
Your noblest anthems raise to day,
And wake the cannon’s voice!
Your fathers’ shades would rend their tombs,
And their altered sons deplore,
If they gave,
To the brave,
A heart that beats no more.
Then wake the memory of the dead
Or you are free no more.

They went before you bravely,
On the battle-field and flood:
They gained their rights in glorious strife,
And wrote them deep in blood.
They charge you on your lives defend
The prize they won before:
And the hour—
And the power
Of your country’s pride restore:--
Then wake the memory of the dead,
Or you are free no more.

Far on the summer ocean,
Your weary navies sleep;
No more they hear the blaze of war
In glory o’er the deep.
Your seas are bright with peaceful sails
That throng from every shore;
And the wave
Is the grave
Of your favorite sons no more:
But freedom sleeps not with the dead
Who share its hopes no more

No gathering cloud of danger
Your calm horizon fills:
And war’s last fires have died away
On your vallies and your hills.
But when again the watch-fire light
Is kindled on your shore—
On the plain
And the main
Let your angry thunders roar—
Then wake the spirit of the dead
Or you are free no more.

Now to your country’s glory,
Let hearts and hands be true:
Lift high the standard of her pride,
Her hope she builds on you!
Oh! never shall your native land
In vain your might implore;
For the field,
Where you yield,
Shall be your home no more:
Then! wake the memory of the dead
Or you are free no more.


"Hymn for Fourth of July, 1825. Tune--'Old Hundred.' By Herman Mann." Village Register, 7 July 1825, 3.

When on us pressed the Tyrant's hand,
That stretched across th' Atlantic wave,*
To subjugate a little Band,
Who dared defy the power t' enslave;

Then heard we not that Mandate given?
"Burn—sink—destroy—that Rebel Crew!"+
Then heard we not that Voice from Heaven?
Which o'er our land, as lightning, flew--

"Be Free, my sons!--The right's your own,
As is the soil, on which you tread.
This Right shall to the World be known,
And fill each Despot's throne with dread!"

A Genius then came down to Earth,
Oft to repeat this high Decree;
To witness the celestial birth,
And nurse the Child--of Liberty.

Then, on that Altar, which our Sires
To Freedom raised, both broad and high,
And, kindling with these holy fires,
They swore to live--or, nobly die:

Here glows our Chart of Liberty,
Craved [sic] on this base and corner-stone;
Which waking nations leap to see--
The traveled road of Washington.

Still, marked ye, with what dauntless form
'Mid sheeted flames of death they stood,
Braving the dark and madd'ning storm,
And swelled the torrent with their blood!

God of our Fathers! Let us here
Tribute to these achievements pay;
And thy all guardian hand revere,
Till time shall sweep the globe away!
*Parliament of G. Britain, under George III.
+Battle of Lexington, April 19, and Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775.

"Independence and Adams. An Historical Ode, for the forty-ninth Anniversary of American Independence. Tune--'Anacreon in Heaven.'" American Mercury, 12 July 1825, 3.

All hail to the day when our nation was born-
When our Fathers, in Council, were gravely assembled;
Those gigantic Statesmen, on that joyous morn,
Declar'd we were free--then Albion trembled.
Our Republic arose, in despite of her foes,
As free as the air, or the water that flows.

This day will we keep, as old time rolls along,
With rapt'rous rejoicing, with mirth and with song.


The thunder of Freemen long sounded around
The hills and the vallies which Freedom endeared;
Our great "Naval Heroes," on oceans were found,
For the "Queen of the Ocean" by them was not feared.
The foe stood aghast--they surrender'd at last,
And gave up their hopes to the wind and the blast.
This day will we keep, &c. &c.


The lov'd new Republic in infancy stood,
And made Eastern crown'd heads to wag and to wonder;
Most admir'd by the great--most bless'd by the good,
Her bonds were too strong for fell tyrants to sunder.
Her Councils were wise--they had light from the skies,
And made trembling despots sink down in surprise.
This day will we keep, &c. &c.


At length haughty Frenchmen* and Spaniards conjoin'd,
Like robbers and pirates, our commerce to threaten;
Our navy sprang up, and with smoke made 'em blend,
And by Yankee Thunder, the boasters were beaten.
Brave Truxton and Murray, put them in a flurry,
And Little compelled them to flee in a hurry.
This day will we keep, &c. &c.


Mahomet's disciples, in that famed sea,+
Which washes the shores of all ancient dominion;
Rais'd the blood-stained Cresent, our Sailors to flea,
To torture, to rack, to enslave or to pinion.
Great Preble then rose--dealth death to our foes,
And restored our brothers from dread Turkish foes.
This day will we keep, &c. &c.


Once more++ haughty Britain, who lately had smiled,
Attempted by threat'ning again to subject us:
She thought our Republic--a lusty young child--
Had'nt nerve in her system enough to protect us.
But Jackson and Brown, brought her proud Lion down,
And made our own Eagle despise Britain's crown.
This day will we keep, &c. &c.


The pirates, those devils commission'd from hell,
Have been, and are still, on our countrymen preying--
Let brave Porter proceed, and those wretches will dwell,
Where our mangled sailors in death are now laying.
Let Justice go on--Let Justice be done,
The Pirates and Cuba itself will be won.
This day will we keep, &c. &c.


Now hail Independence, and Adams likewise,
The first be supported, the second beloved;
May Washington's spirit, who soars in the skies
In each patriots bosom, rest firm and unmoved.
May Freedom remain--without blot or stain
And crown ev'ry hill, and nurture each plain.
This day will we keep, as old time rolls along,
With rapt'rous rejoicing, with mirth and with song.

Hartford, 4th July 1825.
*The naval warfare in the administration of John Adams.
+The Mediterranean war with Tripoli, in the administration of Thomas Jefferson.
++The second war with Britain, in the administration of James Madison.

"From the National Intelligencer. Washington, July 5, 1825. Gentlemen—Enclosed are a few lines intended as an Essay towards making a National Song. It was composed and sung some time since at a celebration of the national festival in this city. By giving it a place, in fair legible type, (such as Revolutionary officers can read,) among your other articles of national intelligence, you will much oblige your old friend. Lycurgus the Younger." "Poetry," New-Hampshire Patriot & State Gazette, 16 July 1827, 4.
The ‘Roll of the Brave.’ Tune—‘Fie, let us a’ to the Bridal, &c.

Come let us rejoice on this day, sirs,
So dear to American freemen;
And praise the bold yeomen who fear’d
Neither, Britain, her soldiers, nor seamen:
Who liberty gave to the land then,
Which now we enjoy without fear,
And call o’er the "Roll of the Brave"
On the fourth of July every year.


Let Liberty still be our motto,
And high may her banner still wave,
Whilst we joyfully sing of her triumphs,
And add to the "Roll of the Brave."

There were Sam and John Adams of Boston,
Who wrote about laws and taxation--
And a step-mother call’d mother Britain,
Who every thing did for vexation;
For the lads had some strange yankee notions
’Bout taxes with representation,
And vow’d they would never submit to,
Proud Britain, nor her usurpation.
"Let Liberty still be our motto," &c.

At Bunker’s Hill there was our Warren,
Of courage so cool without rage,
Before he fell fighting for freedom,
Had twice down the hill beaten Gage.
With gallant Gates too, at Stillwater,
The braggart Burgoyne soon defeated,
And his army of three or four thousand,
Whom he afterwards fed and well treated.
"Let Liberty still be our motto," &c.

There was Green in the South, you must know’m,
Whom some call’d a hickory quaker,
But he ne’er turn’d his back on the foeman,
Nor ever was known for a shaker!
With Howard and Morgan at Cow-Pens,
Who quickly gave Tarleton "enough!"
And was fain by the speed of his racer,
To keep safe his delicate buff.
"Let Liberty still be our motto," &c.

We had Clinton, Montgomery, and Mercer,
With Stark, Knox, and Anthony Wayne,
Their lives in their hands always carrying,
To conquer—or die, like poor Hayne.
At sea we’d the gallant Paul Jones, too,
Whom tories call’d rascal and pirate,
For beating wherever he found foes,
And taking each ship he could fire at.
"Let Liberty still be our motto," &c.

At Yorktown—so fam’d in Virginia,
Corwallis [sic] his forces assembled;
The country he every where pillaged,
Till a desert it nearly resembled.
But Washington wise, our commander,
When joined by Lafayette the brave,
This army most gallantly captur’d,
Which peace to America gave.
"Let Liberty still be our motto." &c.

We had Jefferson, Franklin, and Laurens,
With Henry and witty Tom Paine,
And a list, which to toast ’em so long is,
A hogshead of Claret ’twould drain.
Then fill to the brim every glass, now,
Here’s to Liberty, Learning, and Science;
Bad luck to the despots of Europe,
The Devil—and "Holy Alliance."
"Let Liberty still be our motto," &c.


"Hymn, on the Fiftieth Anniversary of American Independence." Sung at the Central Church in Hartford, Connecticut. Connecticut Courant, 10 July 1826, 3.

Break forth—break forth in raptur'd song,
And bid it pour thy vales along,
Thou pilgrim-planted land!
From fields where ripening harvest bend,
From marts where thronging thousands tend,
Arouse thy tuneful band.

Rememberest thou those men of care,
Whose steps of toil, and hearts of prayer
Explor'd thy trackless clime?
The pillar of their God was bright,
His cloud by day, and flame by night
Impell'd their course sublime.

Rememberest thou those bands who shed
Their blood upon thy bosom red,
When hosts of death were nigh?
With hoary head, and feeble hand,
Amid their comrades' graves they stand,
To bless thee ere they die.

Rememberest thou who bade to sound
Of old, in favour'd Israel's hound,
The festal trumpet's voice?
Swell'd by the Levites' breath it flow'd,
And bade, in every sad abode,
The captive's heart rejoice.

His praise, who gives thine eyes to view
Such light as Israel never knew, Proclaim in accents free,--
Bear wide His name where ocean rolls,
And, by the flight of ransom'd souls,
Attest thy Jubilee.


"Military Song for the Fourth. Tune--'Auld Lang Syne.'" "From the Albany Argus, as published in Pittsfield Sun, 2 July 1829, 3.
Is there a heart forgets the day
That first proclaimed us free!
Can time erase the brilliant page,
That star of memory!

No whilst one drop shall warm our veins,
We'll guard the sacred trust;
In us shall freedom find a friend,
An altar in each breast.

The martyr'd sons of liberty
In every heart shall dwell,
Their laurels now as freshly bloom
As in the hour they fell.

The jubilee of freemen hail
In honor of their worth:
Though care assail us all the year,
To joy we'll give the Fourth.

""Ode, written for July 4th, 1829, by C. Thurber, Esq., of Milford."
Source: Massachusetts Spy & Worcester County Advertiser, 22 July 1829, 1.


"Anthem for the Fourth of July, 1833." National Intelligencer, 4 July 1833, 3.
On this auspicious Day,
Freemen, thy homage pay,
The king of kings.
Ancient of endless days,
Above all creature praise,
To Him loud Anthems raise,
On Freedom's wings.
Our favor'd land afar,
The world's bright morning star,
Shines in the West.
It's light shall still increase,
Till Liberty and peace,
Expand, and never cease
To make men blest,
Justice and equal laws
Maintain the sacred course
Columbia boasts,
Freedom's our magic word,
The rights of man our sword,
Our banner is the Lord,
The Lord of hosts.

"The following hymn, composed for the occasion, was sung as a part of the services, to the tune of Old Hundred." Printed in Robert Rantoul, Jr., An Oration, Delivered before the Gloucester [Maine] Mechanic Association, on the Fourth of July, 1833. Salem: Foote & Chisholm, 1833.
Let grateful nations join to raise
To Freedom's God a song of praise;
His red right arm our fathers led,
Before his frown oppression fled.

Rouse all your powers, the strain prolong,
Land unto land repeat the song;
And Ocean's voice, with solemn roar,
Swell the loud chorus to the shore.

When foreign foes our rights invade,
This God vouchsafes his mighty aid;
And till the victory is won,
Inspires the breast of Washington.

When hideous anarchy of late,
Destruction threatened to our state,
His favor for our quick relief,
Raised up another matchless chief.

The chief his Providence elects,
His wisdom guides, his care protects,
Internal discord's cry is hushed,
And faction's hydra heads are crush'd.

Out States to their remotest bound,
With peace and happiness are crowned;
No civil strife unsheathes the sword,
But Union reigns and love's restored.

Then freemen lift your anthems high,
From every clime beneath the sky:
In tones as thunder loud proclaim,
Glory to his Almight name.


"The following Hymns, by Mrs. S. Theresa Wason, were written for and sung at the Centennial celebration, at New Boston, on the 4th and 5th instant:" "Poetry," Farmers' Cabinet, 16 July 1863. 4. Wason, an amateur poet, wrote a hymn, sung to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne," at the golden wedding anniversary of her parents, Capt. and Mrs. John Lamson. Farmers Cabinet, 24 February 1870, 2. "Centennial" can be sung to the tune of "My country 'tis of thee."


Our fathers' God to Thee,
Enthroned in majesty
We humbly bow;
To thank Thee that this day
Recalls our childhood's way,
Brings loved ones, far away,
To meet us now.

We'll lay aside our creeds,
And will our fathers' deeds
With marshaled hosts array,
And music's grand display,
Our anniversary day
We'll celebrate.

'Twas our centennial sires,
Who kindled here the fires
Of peaceful homes;
That noble race of men,
Of serling worth undim'd,
We'll love and honor them
While here we roam.

Their many virtues shine,
More bright as passing time
Bears us along;
And when life's dreams are o'er,
We'll walk the "Shining shore,"
And join them gone before,
In endless song.