A SONG FOR A DOWN-TRODDEN LAND.
Reading edition
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BY WILLIAM P. MULCHINOCK.
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Air—“Some love to roam o’er the dark sea-foam.”
Fill high to-night, in our halls of light,
The toast on our lips shall be
“The sinewy hand, the glittering brand,
Our homes and our altars free.”
Ho! ho! ho! etc.
Though the coward pale, like a girl may wail,
And sleep in his chains for years,
The sound of our mirth shall pass over earth
With balm for a nation’s tears.
Ho! ho! ho! etc.
A curse for the cold, a cup for the bold,
A smile for the girls we love;
And for him who’d bleed, in his country’s need,
A home in the skies above.
Ho! ho! ho! etc.
We have asked the page of a nobler age
For a hope secure and bright,
And the spell it gave to the stricken slave
Was in one strong word—“Unite.”
Ho! ho! ho! etc.
Though the wind howl free o’er a single tree
Till it bends beneath its frown—
For many a day it will howl away
Ere a forest be stricken down.
Ho! ho! ho! etc.
By the martyred dead, who for Freedom bled,
By all that man deems divine,
Our patriot band, for our own dear land,
Like brothers shall all combine.
Ho! ho! ho! etc.
Then fill to-night, in our halls of light,
The toast on our lips shall be—
“The sinewy hand, the glittering brand,
Our homes and our altars free.”
Ho! ho! ho! etc.