TO THE
MARYLAND SONS
OF
REVOLUTIONARY SIRES!
DEDICATED TO MISS M. H-.
Tune. - Old Lang Syne.
Ye sons of Sires, of manly deeds, who died for love of right;
Again the Despot spoils your land, and justice bids you fight.
The bugle notes again divide friends and kindred brother;
For Tyrants now in strength deride; our sentiments to smother.
The Goddess dies in Bastile [sic] night, unless you draw your blade,
The right of thought is e'en denied: you cannot be dismayed;
For death is but a high born boon; and life is but a grave,
If equal right, must yield to might, what are we, but a slave?
Upon my sword, before my God, this sacrifice I'll bring,
Here! take my life: I'll yield it up, before I'll own a King.
From every kindred will we turn, to seek the battle's fray;
And for our Country win the fight, or cold with freemen lay;
The wail of Justice linked in chains, the very blood doth chill.
Rise! freemen rise! the arm of God sustains a sovereign will.
The booming cannon rends the air, and Camp fires light the skies;
But Truth shall soothe the mother's heart, whose boy for freedom dies.
And bards shall fill historic page, with songs of lyric story:
And fame shall crown the deathless name, with her bright gems of glory.
The babe unborn shall lisp the name, of those who fell in slaughter,
And ransom'd Justice chaunt their praise with Liberty her daughter.
Hope, with her flukes again shall smile, upon our free dominions;
And the Emblem Bird's shrill notes be heard, upon his towering pinions.
Rise! freemen rise! with dauntless will; and by your altars swear,
Your bosoms shall forfend the right! your blades defend the fair!
