A Story
(For the Irish Delegates in Australia)
DO you want to hear a story,
With a nobler praise than 'glory,'
Of a man who loved the right like heaven and loathed the wrong like
hell?
Then, that story let me tell you
Once again, though it as well you
Know as I — the splendid story of the man they call Parnell!
By the wayside of the nations,
Lashed with whips and execrations,
Helpless, hopeless, bleeding, dying, she, the Maiden Nation, lay;
And the burthen of dishonour
Weighed so grievously upon her
That her very children hid their eyes and crept in shame away.
And there as she was lying
Helpless, hopeless, bleeding, dying,
All her high-born foes came round her, fleering, jeering, as they said:
'What is freedom fought and won for?
She is down! She's dead and done for!'
And her weeping children shuddered as they crouched and whispered:
'Dead!'
Then suddenly up-starting,
All that throng before him parting,
See, a Man with firm step breaking through you central knot that gives;
And, as by some dear lost sister,
He knelt down, and softly kissed her,
And he raised his pale, proud face, and cried: 'She is not dead. She lives!
'O she lives, I say, and I here,
I am come to fight and die here
For the love my heart has for her like a slow consuming fire;
For the love of her low-lying,
For the hatred deep, undying
Of the robber lords who struck and stabbed and trod her in the mire!'
Then upon that cry bewildering,
Some of them, her hapless children —
In their hearts there leaped up hope like light when night gives birth to
day;
And, as mocks and threats defied him,
One by one they came beside him,
Till they stood, a band of heroes, sombre, desperate, at bay!
And the battle that they fought there,
And the bitter truth they taught there
To the blinded Sister-Nation suffering grievously alway,
All the wrong and rapine past hers,
Of her lords and her task-masters,
Is not this the larger hope of all as night gives birth to day?
For the lords and liars are quaking
At the People's stern awaking
From their slumber of the ages; and the Peoples slowly rise,
And with hands locked tight together,
One in heart and soul for ever,
Watch the sun of Light and Liberty leap up into the skies!
That's the story, that's the story
With a nobler praise than 'glory,'
Of the Man who loved the right like heaven and loathed the wrong like
hell,
And with calm, proud exultation
Bade her stand at last a nation,
Ireland, Ireland that is one name with the name of Charles Parnell!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Related quotes
Come Gather Round Me, Parnellites
COME gather round me, Parnellites,
And praise our chosen man;
Stand upright on your legs awhile,
Stand upright while you can,
For soon we lie where he is laid,
And he is underground;
Come fill up all those glasses
And pass the bottle round.
And here's a cogent reason,
And I have many more,
He fought the might of England
And saved the Irish poor,
Whatever good a farmer's got
He brought it all to pass;
And here's another reason,
That parnell loved a lass.
And here's a final reason,
He was of such a kind
Every man that sings a song
Keeps Parnell in his mind.
For Parnell was a proud man,
No prouder trod the ground,
And a proud man's a lovely man,
So pass the bottle round.
The Bishops and the party
That tragic story made,
A husband that had sold hiS wife
And after that betrayed;
But stories that live longest
Are sung above the glass,
And Parnell loved his countrey
And parnell loved his lass.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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To Charles Parnell
ONE thing we praise you for that is past praise —
The dauntless eyes that faced the rain and night,
The hand that never wearied in the fight,
Till, through the dark's despair, the dawn's delays,
It rose, that vision of forgotten days,
Ireland, a Nation in her right and might,
As fearless of the lightning as the Light, —
Freedom, the noon-tide sun that shines and stays!
O brave, O pure, O hater of the wrong,
(The wrong that is as one with England's name,
Tyranny with cant of liberty, and shame
With boast of righteousness), to you belong
Trust for the hate that blinds our foes like flame,
Love for the hope that makes our hearts so strong!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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I Was Raised On Rebel Music
I was raised on rebel music and rebel verse and song
That stirred up patriotic feelings but could not right a past wrong
And what now does it matter when all is said and done
Forget the long dead heroes and battles lost and won.
The ballad of Robert Emmett and Wolfe Tone's lonely grave
Were such men quite foolhardy or were they truly brave?
To be hung drawn and quartered for your beliefs is not a pleasant thing
And little value to them now if others of them sing.
The ballad of Sir Roger Casement also known as The Lonely Banna Strand
Executed as a traitor to his Nation but a hero in Ireland
A hero to one can be a villian to another at least that's what they say
And for love of his adopted Country with his life he had to pay.
I was raised on rebel songs and stories such as those men of ninety eight
And in every war that has been fought new heroes they create
But what value are dead heroes they are helpless where they lay
And their too brief lives were wasted seeing war is still waged today.
The founders of the Land League live in Irish history
Parnell and Michael Davitt I learned of their bravery
John Mitchel the Young Ireland leader by boat transported many a sea mile
To Van Diemen's Land in Australia to imprisonment and exile.
I was raised on rebel music and rebel verse and song
Of brave young men who died for their Country to such a background I belong
But I never wished to emulate them never even as a boy
I would rather grow to be an old man and of natural causes die
poem by Francis Duggan
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Eden’s Children
Eden’s Children (chapter II)
Adam and Eve
-the beautiful story of birth and death
what man and god alike has to give
to unfold the beginnings of truth;
Cain and Abel
-the beautiful story of love and hate
between status and power; name and title
to unveil the face that hides from the light
Tower of Babel
-the beautiful story of wisdom and pride
of prince and lord; ruler and citizen; priest and noble
to unlock the bars of the heaven’s side
Joseph and his brothers
-the beautiful story of vision and suspicion
thus wife against husband; children against parents
to unmask the characters of personal and social mission
Moses and the nation
-the beautiful story of The Law –the blessing and the curse
thus their rise and fall; unity and division
to unload their vise and virtue unto the skies
Jesus and the world
-the beautiful story of love, faith and charity
thus his lordship is over the new and the old
to undefine the was, is, to be for us to be free
poem by Jordan Legaspi
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John Mitchel
I.
DEAD, with his harness on him:
Rigid and cold and white,
Marking the place of the vanguard
Still in the ancient fight.
The climber dead on the hill-side,
Before the height is won:
The workman dead on the building,
Before the work is done!
O, for a tongue to utter
The words that should be said—
Of his worth that was silver, living,
That is gold and jasper, dead!
Dead—but the death was fitting:
His life, to the latest breath,
Was poured like wax on the chart of right,
And is sealed by the stamp of Death!
Dead—but the end was fitting:
First in the ranks he led;
And he marks the height of his nation's gain,
As he lies in his harness—dead!
II.
Weep for him, Ireland—mother lonely;
Weep for the son w'ho died for thee.
Wayward he was, but he loved thee only,
Loyal and fearless as son could be.
Weep for him, Ireland—sorrowing nation
Faithful to all who are true to thee:
Never a son in thy desolation
Had holier love for thy cause than he.
Sons of the Old Land, mark the story—
Mother and son in the final test:
Weeping she sits in her darkened glory,
Holding her dead to her stricken breast.
Only the dead on her knees are lying—
Ah, poor mother beneath the cross!
Strength is won by the constant trying,
Crowns are gemmed by the tears of loss!
Sons of the Old Land, mark the story—
Mother and son to each other true:
She called, and he answered, old and hoary,
And gave her his life as a man should do.
She may weep—but for us no weeping:
Tears are vain till the work is done;
Tears for her—but for us the keeping
Our hearts as true as her faithful son.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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A Catholic To His Ulster Brother
Is there no bond of blood to you, my brother?
Who have called her ours, the ancient Mother,
And here we hope to rest from Life's temptation
Building of souls our patriotic Nation.
Can we not stand amongst the purple heather
To find that God we both revere together?
Beneath this sky can come no bigot preaching
To fling our lofty dreams to lowly teaching.
William or James, need we still hate each other
For their dead sakes, my Irish-hearted brother?
Can we not pray without fear of dissension
'God save our land' with but the same intention?
If we from Derry walls were flung defeated,
And you from Limerick town in speed retreated,
One God is ours no matter what religion,
One land we love and shall not have division.
Shall we divide? Ah, better take the token
Of Ireland's luck and leave the shamrock broken
Of one green leaf, when four brought joy upon it,
As Ulster lost—from Munster, Leinster, Connacht.
But Ulster lost with each green sod still crying
For those dear dead who left us dreams undying
Of Ireland's needs, O'Neill whose heart took fire
And joined the sacred flames of Hugh Maguire.
Shall we not cry 'Lamh Dearg abu' and glory
In Cromwell's fall, in reading Clonmel's story,
Or by the 'Yellow Ford' who cheered most loudly
As hand from hand we passed the same flag proudly?
Yea, we have gone with joyous hearts to follow
Men of your thought by mountain, hill and hollow,
Died for them, lived again, loved down the ages
To bless them yet upon historic pages.
Emmet and Tone! Ah, half our pride uprooted,
We were but dead if we such names refuted,
Our well-beloved, dear brothers of our Sireland,
We call with them 'For God and Holy Ireland.'
And do we mourn our Owen Roe less sadly,
Or hold Lord Edward's claim more loved or gladly,
Because of 'popish' ways of Owen's praying,
Or Edward went to other altars straying?
Do we forget or could our fond faith slacken
A patriot's glow in owning Joy MacCracken,
Who Belfast-born has helped the island's story
And shed from Antrim's hills a sunrise glory.
Mitchel or Meagher! Ah, hear the dear names falling
On no deaf ears, we welcome to you calling,
'O dead long gone, O dead of recent slaying,
From your chill hands we take the banner, praying.'
Where this dear land forbids us to forsake her,
Join with the one sweet voice to the same Maker,
'Our hate is one, our love is one the other,
Lead on! or follow, O my Irish brother.'
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
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Washington and Lincoln
Come, happy people! Oh come let us tell
The story of Washinton and Lincoln!
History's pages can never excel
The story of Washington and Lincoln.
Down through the ages an anthem shall go,
Bearing the honors we gladly bestow--
Till every nation and language shall know
The story of Washington and Lincoln:
Who gave us independence,
On our continent and sea
Who saved the glorious Union!
And set a people free!
This is the story--
Oh happy are we--
The story of Washington and Lincoln.
Parents to children shall tell with delight,
The story of Washington and Lincoln;
Free born and freed men together recite
The story of Washinton and Lincoln.
Earth's weary bond men shall listen with cheer--
Tyrants shall tremble, and traitors shall fear--
When, in it's fullness of glory, they hear
The story of Washington and Lincoln:
Though on the war cloud recorded with steel,
The story of Washington and Lincoln;
Peace only Peace, can completely reveal
The story of Washington and Lincoln.
Thanks to the Lord for the days we behold!
Thanks for the unsullied flag we unfold!
Thanks to us, and in our time, was told
The story of Washington and Lincoln.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Helpless
Helpless, helpless, helpless, helpless
I thought about it but I couldnt think of what to say
But I thought about it anyway.......yeah
I tried to tell you what you mean to me
But it didnt come so easily..........no
I never reckoned
For more than a second
Just how it would be on my own
Id be helpless, without you
Id be helpless, without you
The dawn that calls beyond the night
Tells its old story.
The shadows fade into the light
In all its glory.
Helpless
Helpless baby Im a helpless
Helpless baby
Im a helpless
If I could put a good shine on the past
Do you think that we could make it last - oh yeah
Seems to mind the time goes fast
I wonder if the vote is cast
Now that you mention it,
Got my attention
I quite clearly blew me away
Id be helpless, without you
Id be helpless, without you
The dawn that calls beyond the night
Tells its old story.
The shadows fade into the light
In all its glory.
Helpless
Helpless baby Im a helpless
Helpless baby
Im a helpless, without you
Id be helpless, without you
Helpless, helpless, helpless, helpless
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dead whno Died for Ireland
The dead who died for Ireland!
Oh, these are living words
To nerve the hearts of patriots —
to steel avenging swords —
They thrill the soul when spoken,
and lowly bend the head
With reverence for the memories
of all our martyred dead.
The dead who died for Ireland —
the noble ones — the best,
Who gave their lives for Motherland,
Who poured upon her breast,
In Freedom's cause, the blood she gave —
Who with their dying breath,
Sent prayers to God to heal her woes —
then sealed their love in death.
The dead who died for Ireland,
How hallowed are their graves!
With all the memories fresh and green,
Oh! how could we be slaves?
How could we patient clang the chain?
How could we fawn and bow?
How could we crouch like mongrels
'neath the keeper's frowning brow?
Be proud, ye men of Ireland!
Be proud of those who died;
Never men o'er all the earth
Had greater cause for pride —
Hope and strive, and league for freedom,
And again the souls will rise
Of the dead who died for Ireland
To cheer you to the prize.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Ireland
O WE have loved you through cold and rain
And pitiless frost,
Consuming our offering of blood and brain
Gladly again and again and again,
Though it all seemed lost,
Ireland, Ireland!
O we will fight, fight on for you till
Your anguish is past,
The wronged ones righted, the tyrants still. —
Though God has not saved you, yet we will,
At the last, at the last,
Ireland, Ireland!
O we will love you in warmth and light
And the happy day,
When you have forgotten the terrible night,
Standing proud and beautiful bright
For ever and aye,
Ireland, Ireland!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Maybe I
You were right
You came over me
What'd never been before
You slid under my door and now I find
A Reason to admit I've been too lazy
But in this light
In this atmosphere
I'm starting to believe
The other side of me but who's to know
Honey... surely one of us is crazy
Maybe I... I'm not so easily stung
Maybe I... I got some love for someone
Maybe I... I'm not the story for you
Maybe I... I'll be the do you ought to do
So now I stand
I never stood before
What's better left unsaid is done, buried and dead and you're alive
Girl I think you might just stay the night
Maybe I... I'm not so easily stung
Maybe I... I got some love for someone
Maybe I... I'll write a story for you
Maybe I... I'll be the do you ought to do
I'm not trying to take it easy
I'm not trying to help you see
I'm not trying to take us over
I'm just trying to believe
Maybe I... I'm not so easily stung
Maybe I... I got some love for someone
Maybe I... I'm just the story for you
Maybe I... I'll be the do you ought to do
Maybe I... I'm not the one for your love
Maybe I... I'll be your heaven above
Maybe I... I'll write a story for two
Maybe I... I'll be the do that you do
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lords Of The Ring
Written by dennis deyoung
Lead vocals by james young
All hail to the lords of the ring
To the magic and mystery they bring
To the music in their story
All hail to the lords of the ring
To the magic and mystery they bring
To the lands of ancient glory
In the year of the lords
The message came from above
The heavens opened with their mighty sound
That shook the people in the town
And so we came from everywhere
The young and old the rich and poor
To hear the legend of the magic ring
And of the powers it could bring, they sing
All hail to the lords of the ring
To the magic and mystery they bring
To the music in their story
All hail to the lords of the ring
To the magic and mystery it brings
May we someday wear its glory
And now the message is clear
For I became a lord this year
And though the legend was pure fantasy
We still need the hope it brings, so lets sing
All hail to the lords of the ring
To believe is a wonderous thing
May we always sing their glory
All hail to the lords of the ring
To the magic and mystery they bring
To the promise of their story
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lords Glory
clap your hands and praise the lord
clap your hands and sing a song.
give thanks and praise to the one above
he has given and shown us love.
when we are down and out
he picks us up and makes us shout.
all that he asks is that we praise his name
and the change in our lives will never be the same
give of yourself all that you can give
for a better life to live.
we must live in a world where there is no fear
and the lords word is everywhere.
where people learn to respect, instead of neglect
all that god created.
this is the way it was meant to be
to live with respect and dignity.
we must praise the lords glory
and spread the word of his story.
poem by Louis Rams
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Too Late
HOPE? What! hope !—you say there is hope for the long-lost one!
Hope! when the light is out; hope! when the oil is done;
Hope! No, no, good lady! no hope for me, at least;
No home for me but the clammy grave when life has ceased.
Hope! Well, there might have been hope had my mother lived; but, then,
5
God struck her dead, and I was left alone among men.
God knows how I loved her; and shall I never see her again?
Is there no glimpse of heaven for those who are doomed to pain?
Oh, cannot she come and kiss me? Oh, cannot she pray by my side,
As she did long ago on that terrible evening before she died?
10
If she prayed God would hear her, and perhaps—but no;
I'm too old a sinner for mercy—there is nothing for me but woe.
You say that I yet could be saved if I sorrowed for my sin;
That the Lord is at heaven's gate to take poor sinners in!
God knows that I hate my sin, but I feel that it cannot be;
15
I've so often forsaken Him, that He must have forsaken me.
Nay, don't offer a prayer for me, lady, it's only mocking at God:
Who knows but my tired heart still may rest beneath the sod?
For I always loved the sunny fields and the sweet, sweet flowers,
And longed to be pure once again like them, in my better hours.
20
But after I first had fallen the devil opened my eyes,
And I saw that the world knew my shame, and I hadn't the heart to rise;
So I gave up trying to be good, and sank down lower in sin,
Tho' the thought of poor dead mother made me always hate it within.
Oh, many's the night that I've wandered about thro' rain and snow,
25
Wandered about in the street, and didn't know where had to go;
And I've often crept to the river and looked at it, still and black,
And thought how every one spurned me—but something held me back.
I remember how once, when I stopped, half-dead, one rainy day,
To rest on his steps for a moment, the servants drove me away;
30
Drove me away like a dog from the door of the man for whom,
O God! I had given up all in this world and beyond the tomb.
But don't weep at my story, good lady; I'm not worth it living or dead!
Ha, ha! I'm not frightened of Death, nor the devils that dance round my bed:
There cannot be any hell deeper nor fuller of devils and strife
35
Than the hell that burns in my heart, and the fire that eats out life.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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On To Victory
Children of the glorious dead,
Who for freedom fought and bled,
With her banner o'er you spread,
On to victory.
Not for stern ambition's prize,
Do our hopes and wishes rise;
Lo, our leader from the skies,
Bids us do or die.
Ours is not the tented field-
We no earthly weapons wield-
Light and love, our sword and shield,
Truth our panoply.
This is proud oppression's hour;
Storms are round us; shall we cower?
While beneath a despot's power
Groans the suffering slave?
While on every southern gale,
Comes the helpless captive's tale,
And the voice of woman's wail,
And of man's despair?
While our homes and rights are dear,
Guarded still with watchful fear,
Shall we coldly turn our ear
From the suppliant's prayer?
Never! by our Country's shame-
Never! by a Saviour's claim,
To the men of every name,
Whom he died to save.
Onward, then, ye fearless band-
Heart to heart, and hand to hand;
Yours shall be the patriot's stand,
Or the martyr's grave.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Glory Row
Rise up all you fine young ladies and take arms for the show.
Oh, well put your name up in lights,
Put you down on glory row.
Would you be the star of ages
To light your own way at night?
Might be a former beauty queen with your high smile stuck on so tightly.
They come and they go down on glory row.
Its the same old story --- yes, it the same old show.
Well, hello all you gentlemen, I fear Im a lot like you.
Were wearing the same school tie but a different pair of shoes.
How did you get to be who you are?
Will your children share the blame?
Is it really worth the time it takes
To carve your name on glory row?
Down on glory row.
Its the same old story --- yes, it the same old show.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Liberty to Ireland
A nation's birthday breaks in glory;
Songs from her hills and valleys rise,
And myriad hearts thrill to the story
Of Freedom's wars and victories.
When God's right arm alone was o'er her,
And in his name the patriot band,
With sacred blood baptized the land,
And England's Lion crouched before her,
Sons of the Emerald Isle!
She bids you rend the chain,
And tell the haughty ocean queen
Ye, too, are free-born men.
Long had the world looked on in sorrow
As Erin's sunburst set in night.
Joy, joy! there breaks a glorious morrow;
Behold a beam of morning light!
A ray of hope, her night redeeming!
And she greets it, though there lower
England's scaffold, England's tower;
And though hireling swords are gleaming,
Wild shouts on every breeze
Come swelling o'er the sea:
Hark! 't is her starving millions' cry:
"Give Ireland Liberty!"
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Dreamers
THEY lingered on the middle heights
Betwixt the brown earth and the heaven;
They whispered, 'We are not the night's,
But pallid children of the even.'
They muttered, 'We are not the day's,
For the old struggle and endeavour,
The rugged and unquiet ways
Are dead and driven past for ever.'
They dreamed upon the cricket's tune,
The winds that stirred the withered grasses:
But never saw the blood-red moon
That lit the spectre mountain-passes.
They sat and marked the brooklet steal
In smoke-mist o'er its silvered surges:
But marked not, with its peal on peal,
The storm that swept the granite gorges.
They dreamed the shimmer and the shade,
And sought in pools for haunted faces:
Nor heard again the cannonade
In dreams from earth's old battle-places.
They spake, 'The ages all are dead,
The strife, the struggle, and the glory;
We are the silences that wed
Betwixt the story and the story.
'We are the little winds that moan
Between the woodlands and the meadows;
We are the ghosted leaves, wind-blown
Across the gust-light and the shadows.'
Then came a soul across those lands
Whose face was all one glad, rapt wonder,
And spake: 'The skies are ribbed with bands
Of fire, and heaven all racked with thunder.
'Climb up and see the glory spread,
High over cliff and 'scarpment yawning:
The night is past, the dark is dead,
Behold the triumph of the dawning!'
Then laughed they with a wistful scorn,
'You are a ghost, a long-dead vision;
You passed by ages ere was born
This twilight of the days elysian.
'There is no hope, there is no strife,
But only haunted hearts that hunger
About a dead, scarce-dreamed-of life,
Old ages when the earth was younger.'
Then came by one in mad distress,
'Haste, haste below, where strong arms weaken,
The fighting ones grow less and less!
Great cities of the world are taken!
'Dread evil rolls by like a flood,
Men's bones beneath his surges whiten,
Go where the ages mark in blood
The footsteps that their days enlighten.'
Still they but heard, discordant mirth,
The thin winds through the dead stalks rattle,
While out from far-off haunts of earth
There smote the mighty sound of battle.
Now there was heard an awful cry,
Despair that rended heaven asunder,
White pauses when a cause would die,
Where love was lost and souls went under,
The while these feebly dreamed and talked
Betwixt the brown earth and the heaven,
Faint ghosts of men who breathed and walked,
But deader than the dead ones even.
And out there on the middle height
They sought in pools for haunted faces,
Nor heard the cry across the night
That swept from earth's dread battle-places.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Psalm 78
I will utter dark sayings of old
Listen to me tell the story
Of the Lord and all HIs works
Of our God and all His glory
Tell this story to your children
Let them know right from the start
To set their hope upon the Lord
To usher Him into their heart
Long ago and times gone past
God's people lay under the heel
Of a cruel and Godless people
Who whipped them till they could not feel
And they cried out to God in affliction
God came down and He set them free
He caused them to pass through the waters
And their enemies God drowned in the sea
He led them by a cloud in the daytime
And the night was lit up by fire
Yet in the hearts they were never thankful
And were led by their own desire
Still daily God fed them from heaven
With manna that rained from above
He opened the rocks to quench their thirst
And only required their love
Yet they foolishly said ' is this all there is? '
Slapping our Lord in the face
A stiff-necked people ungrateful in heart
Destined to die in that place
And so He gave them the desires of their heart
Yet sent leanness into their soul
And while the food was still yet in their mouths
Death came quickly and swallowed them whole
And in the midst of death they sought Him
And remembered that God was their Rock
'You are our most high God and redeemer, ' they said
But it turns out it was all just talk
They flattered the Lord with their lips
But their hearts were far away
And the moment a time of testing came
They fell down then rose up to play
With skill they created their idols
And danced and fell on their faces
Forgetting the God who delivered them
They worshipped Baal in all their high places
So God forsook the tabernacle of Shiloh
And the ark was given away
The men were destroyed in battle
Thousands were killed in the fray
Then at a time of His choosing
God awoke from what seemed like a sleep
He destroyed the enemies of His people
His covenant forever to keep
And Judah was chosen, not Joseph
And in Zion His glory would fall
The people's king was rejected
And David answered the call
The young shepherd would shepherd the sheep
And from his lineage the King would arise
Just as fire falls down from heaven
So Christ's glory would rise to the skies
poem by Frank McEleny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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America Will Always Stand
She stands in the face of evil
and will not lose hope or faith
America, the land of freedom
Still the home of the brave.
Chorus
So raise the banner, called Old Glory
Let us join our fellow man
History will write the story,
America will always stand.
Walking through the fires of danger
There are those who gave their lives
They're the world's greatest heroes,
And we won't forget their sacrifice.
(Chorus):
So raise the banner, called Old Glory
Let us join our fellow man
History will write the story,
America will always stand.
America is not divided
Our enemies they will be stopped.
'Cause, we the people are united
And still, one nation Under God.
(Chorus):
So raise the banner, called Old Glory
Let us join our fellow man
History will write the story,
America will always stand.
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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