O say can you see, by the mists rising fast
Some one strutting some one torching Shylock’s last rest place,
You know who with hate and fear in lather cast
Now dare desecrate graves, is it against his race
Or the unmanly vice, what his elders improv’d
Having nothing else to impart, -hate is rude,
But with that rallying battle-cry rises hate wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?