The glaring bale-fires blaze no more;
No longer steel-clad warriors ride
Along thy wild and willow'd shore.
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And founded on a Rock!
All her promises are sure;
Her bulwarks who can shock?
Count her every precious shrine;
Tell, to after-ages tell,
Fortified by power divine,
The Church can never fail.
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RGB: 134 28 130
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RGB: 251 176 64
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RGB: 226 1 119
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RGB: 193 216 47
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RGB: 164 215 244