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12. Friend of the brave! in peril's darkest hour
Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for pow'r;
To thee the heart its trembling homage yields
On stormy floods, and carnage-cover'd fields,
When front to front the banner'd hosts combine,
Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line.
When all is still on Death's devoted soil,
The march-worn soldier mingles with the toil;
As rings his glitt'ring tube, he lifts on high
The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye,
Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come,
And hears thy stormy music in the drum!