Oh! was not the world beautiful, this western world of ours?
This world of ours was beautiful, when Freedom first awoke,
Its cradle song the trumpet call, its toy the sabre stroke,
Full armed, like Pallas, then she stood amid the deadly fight,
And man by man stood boldly up, and clenched their hands of might,
The tempest came, no cheek turned pale, no heart unnerved with fear,
They grasped their swords more tightly then—’twas victory or a bier;
Long was the struggle, hard the fight, but liberty was won;
Oh! was not the world beautiful beneath fair Freedom’s sun?
This world of ours was beautiful in times long, long ago,