In those brave days our Liberals stood firmly side by side,
They faced the Tory fury, they tamed the Tory pride;
Shall what their care bequeathed to us, our madness fling away?
Is the ripe fruit of three-score years all blighted in a day?
O crier, to the polling summon the eager throng!
O tribunes, breathe the word of might that guards the weak from wrong!
No, by the earth beneath us, and by the sky above,
We will not yield to Balfour’s hate, Hibernia, whom we love.
No, let the Maiden’s Home be free, its Rule be hers, with pride
She who now loathes ye—as a slave—will love ye—as a bride.