her faith for crown.

"Spain clings fast to thee; Spain, aghast with anguish, cries to
thee; where art thou?
Spain puts trust in thee; lo, the dust that soils and darkens her
prostrate brow!
Spain is true to thy service; who shall raise up Spain for thy
service now?

"Who shall praise thee, if none may raise thy servants up, nor
affright thy foes?
Winter wanes, and the woods and plains forget the likeness of
storms and snows:
So shall fear of thee fade even here: and what shall follow thee no
man knows."

Lords of night, who would breathe your blight on April's morning
and August's noon,
God your Lord, the condemned, the abhorred, sinks hellward, smitten
with deathlike swoon:
Death's own dart in his hateful heart now thrills, and night shall
receive him soon.

God the Devil, thy reign of revel is here for ever eclipsed and
fled:
God the Liar, everlasting fire lays hold at last on thee, hand and
head:
God the Accurst, the consuming thirst that burns thee never shall
here be fed.