Before Sebastopol

HURRAH! we grip the Tyrant now!
And there's no heart so lowly
But burns to strike a battle-blow,
And win a cause so holy!
The Brave look fearless in the eyes
Of Death, nor cry him quarter;
And grand promotion waits them, Boys,
Who fall by laud or water!
Sing O! but a jubilant carouse
Awaits us in our far land,
When we shall thrust up conquering brows,
And take our Country's garland.

O, think how happy eyes will brim
To greet us on the beaches,
With blissful looks of love that swim
Thro' long luxurious reaches!
They watch us now from out the West,
But all too proud to sorrow
For us who rest on Victory's breast,
Or wear her wreath to-morrow.
Sing O! but a j ubilant carouse
Awaits us in our far land,
When we shall thrust up conquering brows,
And take our Country's garland.

We'll seek the bed of Death, to win
Fair Freedom's dream -of beauty,
Or wrest her from the Tyrant, in
The loving arms of duty.
Then gaily thro' the ocean foam
Shall sail our nobler Argo,
And proudly to our Island-home
We'll bear the precious cargo.
Sing O! but a jubilant carouse
Awaits us in our far land,
When we shall thrust up conquering brows,
And take our Country's garland.

To-day the ancient valour starts;
The spirit of old story
Shall flash from out heroic hearts,
And kindle England's glory.
Wild voices wail across the sea, —
They cry from many a woe-land, —
Revenge! remember Sinope!
Revenge! remember Poland!
Sing O! but a jubilant carouse
Awaits us in our far land,
When we shall thrust up conquering brows,
And take our Country's garland.

Now Soldiers up to conquest stride,
Let not one spirit falter:
For Victory is your plighted Bride,
The breach your solemn altar!
Thro' all this bloody cemet'ry
Behold what seed lies sleeping;
God! but thy sun should stand while we
Our harvest field are reaping.
Sing O! but a jubilant carouse
Awaits us in our far land,
When we shall thrust up conquering brows,
And take our Country's garland.

Now, Sailors, fight your Ships to-day
As Grenville fought the Spaniard!
If Battle's bloodiest game they play,
Have at them grip-and-poignard.
One thrilling shout for England, Ho!
Then, naked for the fight, men,
Dash in like fire upon the foe,
And God defend the Right, men!
Sing O! but a jubilant carouse
Awaits us in our far land,
When we shall thrust up conquering brows,
And take our Country's garland.