The Filling of the Swamps
Hurrah for the storm-clouds sweeping!
Hurrah for the driving rain!
The dull earth out of her sleeping
Is wakened to life again.
There are mirrors of crystal shining
Whenever the cloud-wrack breaks,
And grass-clad banks are twining
A wreath for the fairy lakes - - -
Lakes that are links in an endless chain
For the water is out in the swamps again!
Hurrah for the red-gums standing
So high on the range above!
Hurrah for the she-oaks bending
So low to the wave they love!
Hurrah for the reed-stems slender!
Hurrah for the shade they fling,
For the curve of the cygnet's splendour,
The sheen of the black duck's wing!
Hurrah for the clouds and the glorious rain - - -
The water is out in the swamps again!
Hurrah for the laughing water,
The songs that the streamlets sing!
Whish! The teal duck's mate has sought her
With a stroke of his mottled wing!
Hurrah for the deepening shadows,
The ibis's eagle-eyed,
The dash of the purple swallows,
To bury their breasts in the tide!
Woe! It is woe to the Drought-King's reign!
The water is out in the swamps again!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Marching Through Georgia
Bring the good old bugle, boys! we'll sing another song --
Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along --
Sing it as we used to sing it fifty thousand strong,
While we were marching through Georgia.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! we bring the Jubile!
Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes you free!"
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,
While we were marching through Georgia.
How the darkeys shouted when they heard the joyful sound!
How the turkeys gobbled which our commissary found!
How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground,
While we were marching through Georgia.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! we bring the Jubile!
Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes you free!"
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,
While we were marching through Georgia.
Yes, and there were Union men who wept with joyful tears,
When they saw the honor'd flag they had not seen for years;
Hardly could they be restrained from breaking forth in cheers,
While we were marching through Georgia.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! we bring the Jubile!
Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes you free!"
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,
While we were marching through Georgia.
"Sherman's dashing Yankee boys will never reach the coast!"
So the saucy rebels said, and 'twas a hand some boast,
Had they not forgot, alas! to reckon with the host,
While we were marching through Georgia.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! we bring the Jubile!
Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes you free!"
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,
While we were marching through Georgia.
So we made a thoroughfare for Freedom and her train,
Sixty miles in latitude -- three hundred to the main;
Treason fled before us for resistance was in vain,
While we were marching through Georgia.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! we bring the Jubile!
Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes you free!"
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,
While we were marching through Georgia.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Emancipation Song
Let waiting throngs now lift their voices,
As Freedom's glorious day draws near,
While every gentle tongue rejoices,
And each bold heart is filled with cheer;
The slave has seen the Northern star,
He'll soon be free, hurrah, hurrah!
Though many still are writhing under
The cruel whips of 'chevaliers,'
Who mothers from their children sunder,
And scourge them for their helpless tears-
Their safe deliverance is not far!
The day draws nigh!-hurrah, hurrah!
Just ere the dawn the darkness deepest
Surrounds the earth as with a pall;
Dry up thy tears, O thou that weepest,
That on thy sight the rays may fall!
No doubt let now thy bosom mar;
Send up the shout-hurrah, hurrah!
Shall we distrust the God of Heaven?-
He every doubt and fear will quell;
By him the captive's chains are riven-
So let us loud the chorus swell!
Man shall be free from cruel law,-
Man shall be MAN!-hurrah, hurrah!
No more again shall it be granted
To southern overseers to rule-
No more will pilgrims' sons be taunted
With cringing low in slavery's school.
So clear the way for Freedom's car-
The free shall rule!-hurrah, hurrah!
Send up the shout Emancipation-
From heaven let the echoes bound-
Soon will it bless this franchised nation,
Come raise again the stirring sound!
Emancipation near and far-
Swell up the shout-hurrah! hurrah!
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Vanitas! Vanitatum Vanitas!
MY trust in nothing now is placed,
Hurrah!
So in the world true joy I taste,
Hurrah!
Then he who would be a comrade of mine
Must rattle his glass, and in chorus combine,
Over these dregs of wine.
I placed my trust in gold and wealth,
Hurrah!
But then I lost all joy and health,
Lack-a-day!
Both here and there the money roll'd,
And when I had it here, behold,
From there had fled the gold!
I placed my trust in women next,
Hurrah!
But there in truth was sorely vex'd,
Lack-a-day!
The False another portion sought,
The True with tediousness were fraught,
The Best could not be bought.
My trust in travels then I placed,
Hurrah!
And left my native land in haste.
Lack-a-day!
But not a single thing seem'd good,
The beds were bad, and strange the food,
And I not understood.
I placed my trust in rank and fame,
Hurrah!
Another put me straight to shame,
Lack-a-day!
And as I had been prominent,
All scowl'd upon me as I went,
I found not one content.
I placed my trust in war and fight,
Hurrah!
We gain'd full many a triumph bright,
Hurrah!
Into the foeman's land we cross'd,
We put our friends to equal cost,
And there a leg I lost.
My trust is placed in nothing now,
Hurrah!
At my command the world must bow,
Hurrah!
And as we've ended feast and strain,
The cup we'll to the bottom drain;
No dregs must there remain!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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King Death
King Death was a rare old fellow!
He sate where no sun could shine;
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And poured out his coal-black wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
There came to him many a Maiden,
Whose eyes had forgot to shine;
And Widows, with grief o'erladen,
For a draught of his sleepy wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
The Scholar left all his learning;
The Poet his fancied woes;
And the Beauty her bloom returning,
Like life to the fading rose.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
All came to the royal old fellow,
Who laugh'd till his eyes dropped brine,
As he gave them his hand so yellow,
And pledged them in Death's black wine.
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
poem by Barry Cornwall
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Water!--Oh! Water For Me
Oh! water for me-bright water for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain,
It maketh the faint one strong again;
It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea:
All freshness, like infant purity.
Oh water for me, bright water, for me!
Give wine, give wine to the debauchee!
Fill to the brim! fill, fill to the brim!
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim:
For my hand is steady, my eye is true,
For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew.
Oh! water, bright water's a mine of wealth,
And the ores it yieldeth are vigour and health.
So water, pure water for me, for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
When over the hills, like a gladsome bride,
Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride,
And leading a band of laughing hours,
Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers,
Oh! cheerily then my voice is heard,
Mingling with that of the soaring bird,
Who flingeth abroad his matins loud,
As he freshens his wing in the cold grey cloud.
But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew,
Drowsily flying, and weaving anew,
Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,
How gently, oh Sleep, fall thy poppies on me!
For water I drink, pure, cold and bright,
And my dreams are of heaven the live long night.
So, hurrah for thee, water, hurrah, hurrah!
Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star,
Hurrah for bright water! hurrah! hurrah!
poem by John Pierpont
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Science Club
Hurrah for the Science Club!
Join it, ye fourth year men;
Join it, thou smooth-cheeked scrub,
Whose years scarce number ten
Join it, divines most grave;
Science, as all men know,
As a friend the Church may save,
But may damage her as a foe.
(And in any case it is well,
If attacking insidious doubt,
Or devoting H—- to H—-,
To know what you're talking about.)
Hurrah for the lang-nebbit word!
Hurrah for the erudite phrase,
That in Dura Den shall be heard,
That shall echo on Kinkell Braes!
Hurrah for the spoils of the links
(The golf-ball as well as the daisy)!
Hurrah for explosions and stinks
To set half the landladies crazy!
Hurrah for the fragments of boulders,
Surpassing in size and in weight,
To be carried home on the shoulders
And laid on the table in state!
Hurrah for the flying-machine
Long buried from sight in a cupboard,
With bones that would never have been
Desired of old Mother Hubbard!
Hurrah for the hazardous boat,
For the crabs (of all kinds) to be caught,
For the eggs on the surface that float,
And the lump-sucker curiously wrought!
Hurrah for the filling of tanks
In the shanty down by the shore,
For the Royal Society's thanks,
With Fellowships flying galore!
Hurrah for discourses on worms,
Where one listens and comes away
With a stock of bewildering terms,
And nothing whatever to pay!
Hurrah for gadding about
Of a Saturday afternoon,
In the light of research setting out,
Coming home in the light of the moon!
Hurrah for Guardbridge, and the mill
Where one learns how paper is made!
Hurrah for the samples that fill
One's drawer with the finest cream-laid!
Hurrah for the Brewery visit
And beer in liberal doses!
In the cause of Science, what is it
But inspecting a technical process?
Hurrah for a trip to Dundee
To study the spinning of jute!
Hurrah for a restaurant tea,
And a sight of the Tay Bridge to boot!
Hurrah, after every excursion,
To feel one's improving one's mind,
With the smallest amount of exertion,
And that of the pleasantest kind!
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Right On
Ho! children of the brave,
Ho! freemen of the land,
That hurl'd into the grave
Oppression's bloody band;
Come on, come on, and joined be we
To make the fettered bondman free.
Let coward vassals sneak
From freedom's battle still,
Poltroons that dare not speak
But as their priests may will;
Come on, come on, and joined be we
To make the fettered bondman free.
On parchment, scroll and creed,
With human life blood red,
Untrembling at the deed,
Plant firm your manly tread;
The priest may howl, the jurist rave,
But we will free the fettered slave.
The tyrant's scorn is vain,
In vain the slanderer's breath,
We'll rush to break the chain,
E'en on the jaws of death;
Hurrah! Hurrah! right on go we,
The fettered slave shall yet be free.
Right on, in freedom's name,
And in the strength of God,
Wipe out the damning stain,
And break the oppressor's rod;
Hurrah! Hurrah! right on go we,
The fettered slave shall yet be free.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Sir Gilbert
As Sullivan's musical catalyst
Sir Gilbert, the lyrical satirist
Wrote words so amazing
His most clever phrasing
Was crammed with many a patter-twist
His uplifting view of the masses
Spoofed society's uppity classes
He created a fool-bah
In haughty old Pooh Bah
Who's foolishness, no one surpasses
At dispensing justice, The Mikado was an oficionado
He played this role with grandiose bravado
'His object so sublime
Fit punishment to crime'
Did this all-mighty Emperor, The Mikado
Their Comic Operas, not at all bore-ish
Their word-gems so Pinafore-ish
'Trial By Jury's' a laugher
'The Penzeance' a gaffer
They wrote nothing at all amateur-ish
'Let's give three cheers, I'll lead the way'
For Sir Gilbert's comical lyric buffet
For all his buffoonery
To Sullivan's tune-ery
'Hurrah Hurrah Hooray, Hurrah Hurrah Hooray'
poem by Stanley Cooper
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The Red Flag
Where the quivering lightning flings
His arrows from out the clouds,
And the howling tempest sings
And whistles among the shrouds,
'Tis pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride
Along the foaming brine—
Wilt be the Rover's bride?
Wilt follow him, lady mine?
Hurrah!
For the bonny, bonny brine.
Amidst the storm and rack,
You shall see our galley pass,
As a serpent, lithe and black,
Glides through the waving grass.
As the vulture swift and dark,
Down on the ring-dove flies,
You shall see the Rovers bark
Swoop down upon his prize.
Hurrah!
For the bonny, bonny prize.
Over her sides we dash,
We gallop across her deck—
Ha! there's a ghastly gash
On the merchant-captain's neck—
Well shot, well shot, old Ned!
Well struck, well struck, black James!
Our arms are red, and our foes are dead,
And we leave a ship in flames!
Hurrah!
For the bonny, bonny flames!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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The Great Day
Hurrah for revolution and more cannon-shot!
A beggar upon horseback lashes a beggar on foot.
Hurrah for revolution and cannon come again!
The beggars have changed places, but the lash goes on.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Hurrah For The Light Artillery!
On the unstained sward of the gentle slope,
Full of valor and nerved by hope,
The infantry sways like a coming sea;
Why lingers the light artillery?
'Action front!'
Whirling the Parrotts like children's toys,
The horses strain to the rushing noise;
To right and to left, so fast and free,
They carry the light artillery.
'Drive on!'
The gunner cries with a tug and a jerk,
The limbers fly, and we bend to our work;
The handspike in, and the implements out-
We wait for the word, and it comes with a shout-
'Load!'
The foes pour on their billowy line;
Can nothing check their bold design?
With yells and oaths of fiendish glee,
They rush for the light artillery.
'Commence firing!'
Hurrah! Hurrah! our bulldogs bark,
And the enemy's line is a glorious mark;
Hundreds fall like grain on the lea,
Mowed down by the light artillery.
'Fire!' and 'Load!' are the only cries,
Thundered and rolled to the vaulted skies;
Aha! they falter, they halt, they flee
From the hail of the light artillery.
'Cease firing!'
The battle is over, the victory won,
Ere the dew is dried by the rising sun;
While the shout bursts out, like a full-voiced sea,
'Hurrah for the light artillery!
'Hurrah for the light artillery!'
poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Lake of the Thousand Isles
(For Music.)
Though Missouri'stide may majestic glide,
There's a curse on the soil it laves;
The Ohio, too, may be fair, but who
Would sojourn in the land of slaves?
Be my prouder lot a Canadian cot
And the bread of a freeman's toils;
Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand,
And the Lake of the Thousand Isles!
I would seek no wealth, at the cost of health,
'Mid the city's din and strife;
More I love the grace of fair nature's face,
And the calm of a woodland life;
I would shun the road by ambition trod,
And the lore which the heart defiles;--
Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand,
And the Lake of the Thousand Isles!
O away, away! I would gladly stray
Where the freedom I love is found;
Where the pine and oak by the woodman's stroke
Are disturbed in their ancient bound;
Where the gladsome swain reaps the golden grain,
And the trout from the stream beguiles;
Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand,
And the Lake of the Thousand Isles.
poem by Evan MacColl
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Long, Tall Texan
One, two, three, four
Giddy up
Giddy up
Well Im a long tall texan
I ride a big white horse
(he rides from texas on a big white horse)
Well Im a long tall texan
I ride a big white horse
(he rides from texas on a big white horse)
Well people look at me and say
Hurrah hurrah is that your horse?
(he rides from texas on a big white horse)
Yeah
Well Im a long tall texan
I wear a ten gallon hat
(he rides from texas with a ten gallon hat)
Well Im a long tall texan
I wear a ten gallon hat
(he rides from texas with a ten gallon hat)
Well people look at me and say
Hurrah hurrah is that your hat?
(he rides from texas with a ten gallon hat)
Yeah
Well I was walkin down the street
With my shinin badge
My spurs jinglin down at my feet
I seen a man a comin
Comin with a gun
And I just cant be beat
Well Im a long tall texan
I enforce justice for the law
(he rides from texas to enforce the law)
Well Im a long tall texan
I enforce justice for the law
(he rides from texas to enforce the law)
Well people look at me and say
Hurrah hurrah are you the law?
(he rides from texas to enforce the law)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Norwegian seamen's song
Norwegian seamen are
A folk grown strong 'neath sail and spar;
Where boats can find a way,
The best men there are they.
On high seas or at home,
In calm or when the storm-waves comb,
To God their prayer they make,
Their lives they gladly stake.
Incessant is their strife,
They wage with death a war for life,
And dear their souls they sell
In conflicts none can tell.
All that is commonplace
In history seldom leaves its trace,
And often none is there,
The tidings home to bear.
But fishing-boats in need
Have shown so many a daring deed
Of courage fine and skill,
Though unrecorded still.
And many a seaman's head
A wreath of sea-weed wore when dead,
Whose name should shine in gold
Among great heroes bold.
Saint Olaf's Cross's praise
Would on that pilot fitly blaze
Who saved a hundred men,
And hundred once again.
To many a boy so young,
Who riding home to boat's keel clung,
His father set on board,
We honor should accord.
In Norway's mountain-coast
Our land's own mother-breast we boast,
With food for us and tears
For sons whom danger nears.
In it each deed has lot,
And there no brave son is forgot,
From Hafurfjord's great day
To the last castaway.
This each one felt and found
Who homeward came and looked around;
This each one felt who went,
In the last look he sent.
They felt the ocean o'er:
Their ships our country's fortune bore;
Honor and power it sought,-
And these the white sails brought.
Hurrah for them to-day
Who the Norwegian flag display!
Hurrah for pilots true
Who forth to meet them flew!
Hurrah for them who ply
Their fishing-boats 'twixt sea and sky!
Hurrah for all our boast,
Our skerry-skirted coast!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dear Old Flag
Oh! we love that dear old flag,
That our forefathers gave
Over one hundred years ago, boys,
They once stood under that dear flag,
But now they are in their graves,
Sleeping their everlasting sleep, boys.
CHORUS:
The Union forever,
Hurrah, boys, hurrah;
Down with the traitors,
Up with the stars;
For we love that dear old flag
That our fathers fought to save
When they were fighting for our freedom.
We will rally around its standard
Every Fourth day of July,
For we dearly love our nation;
We love to see the stars and stripes
A waving up on high
Over our Union celebration.
Three cheers for the Union
And the red, white and blue,
And our forefathers that formed the constitution;
May the flag forever wave
O'er our native land so true,
May God protect our flag and nation.
poem by Julia A Moore
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The Fishermen
HURRAH! the seaward breezes
Sweep down the bay amain;
Heave up, my lads, the anchor!
Run up the sail again!
Leave to the lubber landsmen
The rail-car and the steed;
The stars of heaven shall guide us,
The breath of heaven shall speed.
From the hill-top looks the steeple,
And the lighthouse from the sand;
And the scattered pines are waving
Their farewell from the land.
One glance, my lads, behind us,
For the homes we leave one sigh,
Ere we take the change and chances
Of the ocean and the sky.
Now, brothers, for the icebergs
Of frozen Labrador,
Floating spectral in the moonshine,
Along the low, black shore!
Where like snow the gannet's feathers
On Brador's rocks are shed,
And the noisy murr are flying,
Like black scuds, overhead;
Where in mist the rock is hiding,
And the sharp reef lurks below,
And the white squall smites in summer,
And the autumn tempests blow;
Where, through gray and rolling vapor,
From evening unto morn,
A thousand, boats are hailing,
Horn answering unto horn.
Hurrah! for the Red Island,
With the white cross on its crown!
Hurrah! for Meccatina,
And its mountains bare and brown!
Where the Caribou's tall antlers
O'er the dwarf-wood freely toss,
And the footstep of the Mickmack
Has no sound upon the moss.
There we'll drop our lines, and gather
Old Ocean's treasures in,
Where'er the mottled mackerel
Turns up a steel-dark fin.
The sea's our field of harvest,
Its scaly tribes our grain;
We'll reap the teeming waters
As at home they reap the plain!
Our wet hands spread the carpet,
And light the hearth of home;
From our fish, as in the old time,
The silver coin shall come.
As the demon fled the chamber
Where the fish of Tobit lay,
So ours from all our dwellings
Shall frighten Want away.
Though the mist upon our jackets
In the bitter air congeals,
And our lines wind stiff and slowly
From off the frozen reels;
Though the fog be dark around us,
And the storm blow high and loud,
We will whistle down the wild wind,
And laugh beneath the cloud!
In the darkness as in daylight,
On the water as on land,
God's eye is looking on us,
And beneath us is His hand!
Death will find us soon or later,
On the deck or in the cot;
And we cannot meet him better
Than in working out our lot.
Hurrah! hurrah! the west-wind
Comes freshening down the bay,
The rising sails are filling;
Give way, my lads, give way!
Leave the coward landsman clinging
To the dull earth, like a weed;
The stars of heaven shall guide us,
The breath of heaven shall speed!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Africa For The Africans
Say! Africa for the Africans,
Like America for the Americans:
This the rallying cry for a nation,
Be it in peace or revolution.
Blacks are men, no longer cringing fools;
They demand a place, not like weak tools;
But among the world of nations great
They demand a free self-governing state.
Hurrah! Hurrah! Great Africa wakes;
She is calling her sons, and none forsakes,
But to colors of the nation runs,
Even though assailed by enemy guns.
Cry it loud, and shout it Ion' hurrah!
Time has changed, so hail! New Africa!
We are now awakened, rights to see:
We shall fight for dearest liberty.
Mighty kingdoms have been truly reared
On the bones of blackmen, facts declared;
History tells this awful, pungent truth,
Africa awakes to her rights forsooth.
Europe cries to Europeans, ho!
Asiatics claim Asia, so
Australia for Australians,
And Africa for the Africans.
Blackmen's hands have joined now together,
They will fight and brave all death's weather,
Motherland to save, and make her free,
Spreading joy for all to live and see.
None shall turn us back, in freedom's name,
We go marching like to men of fame
Who have given laws and codes to kings,
Sending evil flying on crippled wings.
Blackmen shall in groups reassemble,
Rich and poor and the great and humble:
Justice shall be their rallying cry,
When millions of soldiers pass us by.
Look for that day, coming, surely soon,
When the sons of Ham will show no coon
Could the mighty deeds of valor do
Which shall bring giants for peace to sue
Hurrah! Hurrah! Better times are near;
Let us front the conflict and prepare;
Greet the world as soldiers, bravely true:
'Sunder not,' Africa shouts to you.
poem by Marcus Mosiah Garvey
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Great efforts
Great efforts
No rewards
No awards but set backs
No let up in preparation
Strong enthusiasm with indication
"Come what may" push hard with resolution
Port is sighted
All sailors are delighted
Birds hover over head
May be far away some open bodies of dead
Destiny not far away
Cautious move with all alerts on the way
Eyes on high seas to tackle the danger
Arms in hand with readiness of trigger
Black natives are seen similar to those niggers
Shore is in sight
"Hurrah, Hurrah" sailors shout
New land is found to make the mother land
Natives to be approached and made friends
Anchor the ship with arms down
Make our wish loudly known
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Swan Swan H
Swan, swan, hummingbird
Hurrah, we are all free now
What noisy cats are we
Girl and dog he bore his cross
A long, low time ago, people talk to me
Johnny reb whats the price of fans
Forty a piece or three for one dollar?
Hey captain dont you want to buy
Some bone chains and toothpicks?
Night wings, her hair chains,
Heres your wooden greenback, sing
Wooden beams and dovetail sweep
I struck that picture ninety times,
I walked that path a hundred ninety,
Long, low time ago, people talk to me
A pistol hot cup of rhyme
The whiskey is water, the water is wine
Marching feet, johnny reb, whats the price of heroes?
Six and one half dozen the other,
Tell that to the captains mother,
Hey captain dont you want to buy,
Some bone chains and toothpicks?
Night wings, her hair chains
Swan, swan, hummingbird
Hurrah, we are all free now
What noisy cats are we
Long, low time ago, people talk to me
A pistol hot cup of rhyme,
The whiskey is water, the water is wine
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rally round The Flag
(traditional)
Yes, well rally round the flag, boys
Well rally round again
Shouting the battle cry of freedom
We will rally from the hillside
Well gather from the plain
Shouting the battle cry of freedom
The union forever, hurrah boys, hurrah
Down with the traitor, up with the star
While we rally round the flag, boys
Rally once again
Shouting the battle cry of freedom
We will welcome to our numbers
The loyal, true and brave
Shouting the battle cry of freedom
And although he may be poor
Not a man shall be a slave
Shouting the battle cry of freedom
So were springing to the call
From the east and from the west
Shouting the battle cry of freedom
And well prove a loyal crew
To the land we love the best
Shouting the battle cry of freedom
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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