Thomas Powar

WHEN Liberty first raised her voice in our land,

It peal’d o’er our hills in the accents of glory;

Devoted each heart, and uplifted each hand,

Our fathers predicted their country’s proud story.

Then abroad went the cry

To be free, or to die—

And Freedom exulting gave back in reply:

While our hills shall be green, or its course holds the sun,

The sword shall maintain what by battle was won.

Then despots decreed that Columbia’s young hope

Should mingle its ray with the flood of commotion;

That her fleets should ne’er vie, nor her navies e’er cope

With the gallant and chivalrous sons of the ocean.

But valour soon gave

Her broad stripes to the wave,

And the watchword of Freedom went forth from the brave:
While our hills shall be green, &c.

The slave that would yield, or the coward that flies,

Finds a grave in his heart for each proud, lofty feeling;

For his country, who dares, for his honour who dies,

Has hope in his peril, his duty revealing.

Be their valorous band

Still the pride of our land,

Who in peace avoid war by the soldier’s proud stand;
While our hills shall be green, &c.

Long, long may our land, in its glory entwine

The olive’s green leaf with the flag of our nation;

May our citizen-soldiers protect the fair shrine

Where Liberty dwells, in her own lofty station.

While her birth-day we hail,

No alarms shall prevail,

But the shout shall be echoed from mountain and vale;
While our hills shall be green, &c.