OUR RECORD.
Who casts a slur on Irish worth, a stain on Irish fame,—
Who dreads to own his Irish blood or wear his Irish name,—
Who scorns the warmth of Irish hearts, the clasp of Irish hands?
Let us but raise the vail to-night and shame him as he stands.
Who dreads to own his Irish blood or wear his Irish name,—
Who scorns the warmth of Irish hearts, the clasp of Irish hands?
Let us but raise the vail to-night and shame him as he stands.
The Irish fame! It rests enshrined within its own proud light,
Wherever sword or tongue or pen has fashioned deed of might;
From battle charge of Fontenoy to Grattan's thunder tone,
It holds its storied past on high, unrivaled and alone.
Wherever sword or tongue or pen has fashioned deed of might;
From battle charge of Fontenoy to Grattan's thunder tone,
It holds its storied past on high, unrivaled and alone.
The Irish blood! Its crimson tide has watered hill and plain
Wherever there were wrongs to crush, or freemen's rights to gain;
Wherever there were wrongs to crush, or freemen's rights to gain;
