| |
| QUAFF a cup, and send a cheer up for the Old Land! | |
| We have heard the Reapers shout, | |
| For the Harvest going out, | |
| With the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land; | |
| And our message shall be hurled | 5 |
| Up the ringing sides o’ the world, | |
| There are true hearts beating for you in the Gold Land. | |
| |
| We are with you in your battles, brave and bold Land! | |
| For the old ancestral tree | |
| Striketh root beneath the sea, | 10 |
| And it beareth fruit of Freedom in the Gold Land! | |
| We shall come too, if you call, | |
| We shall fight on if you fall, | |
| Cromwell’s land must never be a bought and sold land. | |
| |
| O, the standard of the Lord wave o’er the Old Land! | 15 |
| For, the waiting world holds breath | |
| While she trends the dew of Death, | |
| With the sleeve of Peace stript up from her bare, bold hand: | |
| And her ruddy Rose will bloom | |
| On the bosom and the tomb | 20 |
| Of her many Heroes fallen for the Old Land. | |
| |
| O, a terror to the Tyrant is the Old Land! | |
| He remembers how she stood | |
| With her raiment rolled in blood, | |
| When the tide of battle burst upon the bold Land, | 25 |
| And he looks with darkened face, | |
| For he knows the hero-race | |
| Sweep the harp of freedom—draw her Sword with bold hand. | |
| |
| Let thy glorious voice be heard, thou great and bold Land! | |
| Speak the one victorious word, | 30 |
| And fair Freedom’s wandered Bird | |
| Shall wing back with leaf of promise from the Old Land! | |
| And the peoples shall come out | |
| From their slavery, with a shout | |
| For the new world greeting in the Future’s Gold Land! | 35 |
| |
| When the smoke of Battle rises from the Old Land, | |
| You shall see the Tyrant down, | |
| You shall see the ransomed crown; | |
| On the brow of prisoned peoples, freed with bold hand! | |
| She shall thrash her foes like corn; | 40 |
| They shall eat the bread of scorn; | |
| And will sing her song of Triumph in the Gold Land. | |
| |
| Quaff a cup, and send a cheer up from the Gold Land! | |
| We have heard the Reapers shout, | |
| For the Harvest going out, | 45 |
| Seen the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land! | |
| And our message shall be hurled | |
| Up the ringing sides o’ the world, | |
| There are true hearts down here, beating for the Old Land. | |
| |
