The Lilies of France and our own Red Rose

Like a stern old friend, War grimly comes
To the temple of peaceful Life;
With the well-known nod of his beckoning plumes,
He hurries us into the strife.
And we meet once more, in the fields of fate,
With our chivalrous Enemy,
Who knows, by the grip of our hands in hate,
What the strength of our love may be.
O! the Lilies of France arid our own Red Rose
Are twined in a Coronal now;
At War's bloody bridal it glitters and glows
On Liberty's beautiful brow.

We have dasht together like waves and rocks!

We have fought till our shirts grew red!
We have met in the shuddering battle-shocks,
Where none but the freed soul fled!
Now side by side, in the fields of fate,
And shoulder to shoulder, are we;
And we know, by the grip of our hands in hate,
What the strength of our love may be.
O! the Lilies of France and our own Red Rose
Are twined in a Coronal now;
At War's bloody bridal it glitters and glows
On Liberty's beautiful brow.

Then gather ye, gather to battle, ye Braves,
In the might of your old renown!
And follow ye, follow ye, over the waves,
Where Liberty's sun went down!
By the bivouac-fire, in the battle-shower,
Remember your destiny grand,
To set in the thrones of their olden power
The peoples of many a land!
For the Lilies of France and our own Red Rose
Are twined in a Coronal now;
At War's bloody bridal it glitters and glows
On Liberty's beautiful brow.

Till the last fetter'd nation that calls us is free,
Let us fall upon Tyranny's horde!
Brave Italy, Poland, and Hungary, see,
With their praying hands seek for a Sword.
Till the Storm- God is roused in each suffering land,
Let us march thro' the welcoming world;
And till Freedom and Faith shall go hand-in-hand,
Let us keep the war-standard unfurl'd!
For the Lilies of France and Old England's Red
Rose
Are twined in a Coronal now;
At War's bloody bridal it glitters and glows
On Liberty's beautiful brow.