William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
War Song of Seventy-SixFrederick William Thomas (18061866)
F
The foe are on our shore,
And we must win our freedom now,
Or yield forevermore.
Then tear it from the plough!
Lingers there here a crouching slave?
Depart, a recreant thou!
Determined to be free,
Who burn to meet their vaunting foes
And strike for liberty.
Say, was he not your sire?
And shall the liberty he gave
Upon his grave expire?
Nor where the savage trod;
He braved them all, and conquer’d all,
For freedom and for God.
For heritage, for altar;
And, by the God of yon blue dome,
Not one of us shall falter?
Like sand-grains on our shore,
And raise our angry battle-flood,
And whelm the despots o’er.
Upon our fathers’ tomb;
And when the foe shall sleep in death,
We’ll sheath it o’er their doom.
Unbroken your array:
The spirits of the blest shall smile
Upon our deeds to-day.
Amidst the battle’s cloud;
Its folds shall wave to Liberty,
Or be to us a shroud.
Exulting shall be shed;
We’ll bear them upon honour’s bier,
To sleep in honour’s bed.
And rapture-beaming eye,
Shall all forget the field of death
To bless the victory.
The mother bless her son,
And God, He will not frown in ire,
When such a field is won.