Post

Oh say, can’t you see? By the Don’s surly might What we hailed at the dawn of this perilous age, Whose loud boasts and crude threats, through the long, anxious night, O’er the halls of our law cast a tyrant’s dark shade. 1/

On the shore, dimly seen through the fog of deceit, Where the echoes of norms lie abandoned and worn, What is that which the mob, in their fevered retreat, Half conceals, half exalts with a sneer and a scorn? 3/

Now it catches the gleam of a fact-checking light, Now it fades as the lie takes the crowd once again; ’Tis the charter we swore would outlast any blight— Can it stand, can it hold, through this trial of men? 4/

And where is that vow that our founders once spoke, That no crown nor strongman would rule by his whim? Their ink has not faded, though tested and broke By the hands of the craven who profit from him. 5/