The children of a foreign land
In its defense most nobly stand,
Protect it from the murderous horde,
By word and deed, by gun and sword;
With wondrous unanimity
Cry, “wretches, monsters, spare that tree!
Touch not a bough! it nurtured you
With kindly fruit,—refreshed with dew,
Protected by its grateful shade,
And dare you now its life invade?”