The Men of Forty-Eight

They rose in Freedom's rare sunrise,
Like Giants roused from wine;
And in their hearts and in their eyes
The God leapt up divine!
Their souls flash t out naked as swords
Unsheathed for fiery fate!
Strength went like battle with their words-
The Men of Forty-eight,
Hurrah!
For the Men of Forty-eight.

Dark days have fall'n, yet in the strife
They bate no hope sublime,
And bravely works the exultant life,
Their hearts pulse thro' the time:
As grass is greenest trodden down,
So suffering makes men great,
And this dark tide shall richly crown
The work of Forty-eight,
Hurrah!
For the Men of Forty- eight.

Some in a bloody burial sleep,
Like Greeks to glory gone,
But in their steps avengers leap
With their proof-armour on:
And hearts beat high with dauntless trust
To triumph soon or late,
Tho' they be mouldering down in dust —
Brave Men of Forty- eight!
Hurrah!
For the Men of Forty-eight.

O when the world wakes up to worst
The Tyrants once again,
And Freedom's summons-shout shall burst,
Rare music! on the brain, —
All Truehearts still, in many a land,
Ye'll find them all elate —
Brave remnant of that Spartan-band,
The Men of Forty-eight.
Hurrah!
For the Men of Forty-eight.