Against Thee, where's the Panoply?
Impregnable to Thee what Place?
Nor Cots too low, nor Thrones too high,
O'er all thy Ravages we trace.
One only Champion has the force
To stand erect against thy course,
Arm'd with invulnerable shield, —
Exalted Fortitude, — thou ne'er subdu'dst to yield.