America! America! God shed his grace on thee, and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountains majesties Above the fruited plain. America! America! God shed His grace on thee, And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea.

They shall not pass till the stars be darkened: Two swords crossed in front of the Hun; Never a groan but God has harkened, Counting their cruelties one by one.

Love planted a rose, and the world turned sweet.

It is the hour to rend thy chains, the blossom time of souls.

Shakespeare's frequent horseback journeys from London to Stratford, and from Stratford to London, must have made him familiar with the county of Oxfordshire.