Cathcart's Hill

They have died, our true and tried, ere our flag
victorious flew
O'er the burning battle-hell, we must ride to conquest
through.
But they died, our Glorified! on the field of their
renown;
And they died when the pride of the Foeman's power
went down.

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill with our bravest Brave.

A proud flame in the Death- wind waved the War-
rior's soaring plume:

Stern in his shroud of fire, the Foe glared from his
burning tomb!

Victory's shouts were ringing as they flasht from out
the strife,
To meet God's angels bringing garlands for the Kings
of Life.

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill with our bravest Brave!

Bear them to that grave in a solemn march and
slow,
Let Music talk in tears o'er the great ones lying low
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill,
'Tis a famous grave!

They will sleep calm and deep when the battle-bugles
blow;
And ye shall build their monument when next ye meet
the Foe!

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill with our bravest Brave!

We quaff our cup o' the vintage, and from darkened
depths arise
The bubbles, like the tears that plead in Desolation's
eyes;

Yet there's glory in our grief, — 'tis a glory that shall
grow
When our sorrow hath no morrow, and 'twas centu-
ries ago.

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill with our bravest Brave!

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, — their glory from its
crest
Shall flame, a terror to the North, a watchfire to the
West!
Cross their hands and lay their brands upon the martial
breast,
They have done with their work, lay them down to
their rest.

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill with our bravest Brave!