The buffalo upon the plains, the panther in his lair,
And the eagle hails the kindred note, and screams it through the air.
“Make way for liberty,” it roared, “here let the oppressed go free,
Break loose your bands of tyrant hands, this land is not for thee.
The old world in its crusted grasp grinds out the souls of men,
Here plant their feet in freedom’s soil, this land was made for them.”
The mother slept in her island home, but the children heard the call,
And ere the western sun went down, had answered, one and all;
For Britain’s thirteen colonies had vanished in a day,
And six and half a hundred men had signed their lives away.