1867

All our best ye have branded When the people were choosing them, When ’twas Death they demanded Ye laughed! Ye were losing them. But the blood that ye spilt in the night Crieth loudly to God, And their name hath the strength and the might Of a sword for the sod. In the days of our doom and our dread Ye were cruel and callous, Grim Death with our fighters ye fed Through the jaws of the gallows; But a blasting and blight was the fee For which ye had bartered them, And we smite with the sword that from ye We had gained when ye martyred them!