"NATIVE LAND" Oun arms obey no despot's nod, Nor gleam with carnage-glory ; We tread the steps our sires have trod, We guard Britannia's sacred sod, We keep her grand old story.
Dear native land, our heart and hand Are thine on field or foam ; And shamed be he, by land or sea, Who will not strike for home !
From all the honoured fields of fame Whence they hurled back the stranger, The brave who died for Britain's name, With twice ten thousand eyes of flame, Will watch us front the danger.
Dear native land, &c.
Then steady, steady in the strife, And shoulder, boys, to shoulder ! The bonny land that gave us life, And shelters friend, and child, and wife !— Our manhood must uphold her. Dear native land, &c.
By many a link to Britain bound, Full high our hearts are beating ; And staunch those hearts shall still be found, When, whilst death's hailstorm whistles round, We charge, the foeman meeting. Dear native land, &c.
Our work shall speed when once begun, Spite havoc, rage, or treason.
Come death, we'll die on duty done, Come life, we'll see the battle won, Or know the solid reason.
Dear native land, our heart and hand Are thine on field or foam ; And shamed be he, by land or sea, Who will not strike for Home.