For the old Constitution his pulses beat high;
And in camp or in action, in march or at rest,
’Tis the love of Our Union that leaps from his breast
In the war-shout of freemen—the Northern Hurrah!
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Oh, the slogan of Scotland is startling and shrill,
And the loud Marseillaise every Frenchman will thrill;
But there’s never a shout like the Northern Hurrah!
Let the Turkman cry “Allah!” while charging his foe—
And the Briton, “St. George!” with each resolute blow;