We leave our pleasant homesteads,
We leave our smiling farms,
At the first call of duty
We rush at once to arms;
We rush at once to arms,
To guard our coasts we fly,
For the land our mothers lived, on
Bravely to bleed or die.
Up, boys, and quit your pleasure,
Up, men, and quit your toil!
The invader’s foot must never
Be pressed upon our soil;
Be pressed upon our soil,
In which our fathers sleep;
Their blessed graves our care, boys,
Most sacredly must keep.
’Twas in our brave old State, men,
That first of all was sung,
The thrilling song of freedom
That through the land hath rung;
That through the land hath rung,
And we’ll sound its notes once more,
Till our men and children shout
From the mountain to the shore.
Sweet eyes are filled with tears, men,
Sweet tears of love and pride,
As our wives and sweethearts bid us
Go meet whate’er betide,
Go meet whate’er betide,
And God our guide shall be,
As we drive the foe before us,
And rush to victory. |