W. Stewart Wallace

SONS of heathered hills of freedom,

Rax the Queen’s Arms off the wall,

Set your caps, and fill your muskets,

At the country’s call.

Take the mattock from the garden,

And the hay-fork from the byre,

And shoulder, port, present them

To the Regimentals’ fire.

Set the blazing flag of Freedom

A-flutter in your van,

And sing the song of brotherhood,

The brotherhood of man.

Fraternity, equality,

Be all your glowing song,

As by the farm-house windows

Your dead men tramp along.