Which burns in our sight like a beacon light
And stands while the hills shall stand;
Yea, dearer than fame is our land’s great name,
And we fight, wherever we be,
For the mothers and wives that pray for the lives
Of the brave hearts over the sea.
What is the red on our flag, boys?
The blood of our heroes slain
On the burning sands in the wild waste lands
And the froth of the purple main;