Rhode Island to the South

Once, on New England's bloody heights,
And o'er a southern plain,
Our fathers fought for sovereign rights,
That working men might reign.

And by that only Lord we serve,
The great Jehovah's name;
By those sweet lips that ever nerve
High hearts to deeds of fame;

By all that makes the man a king,
The household hearth a throne,--
Take back the idle scoff ye fling,
Where freedom claims its own.

For though our battle hope was vague
Upon Manassas' plain,
Where Slocum stood with gallant Sprague
And gave his life in vain,--

Before we yield the holy trust
Our old forefathers gave,
Or wrong New England's hallowed dust,
Or grant the wrongs ye crave,--

We'll print in kindred gore so deep
The shore we love to tread,
That woman's eyes shall fail to weep
O'er man's unnumbered dead.