Then advance, advance, ye sons of France, before the startled world,
For France, once more, her tricolor in triumph hath unfurled.
And, hark, a wail from our kindred Gael, comes floating from the West—
That gallant race, whose chosen place was ever our battle’s crest;
Now is the day we can repay the generous debt we owe
To Irish blood, that freely flowed to conquer France’s foe.
Then advance, advance, ye sons of France, before the startled world,
For France, once more, her tricolor in triumph hath unfurled.
Old Tricolor, as in days of yore, you shall wave o’er vanquished kings,
And your folds shall fly ’neath an English sky, on Victory’s crimson wings;