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And the courts’ early cries, and the truth’s muffled plea, Gave grim proof through the storm that our guard was too thin; Oh say, does that banner yet tattered still be, O’er the land of the free, and the home we’re still in? 2/

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/