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1867
All our best ye have brandedWhen the people were choosing them,When 'twas Death they demandedYe laughed! Ye were losing them.But the blood that ye spilt in the nightCrieth loudly to God,And their name hath the strength and the mightOf a sword for the sod.
In the days of our doom and our dreadYe were cruel and callous,Grim Death with our fighters ye fedThrough the jaws of the gallows;But a blasting and blight was the feeFor which ye had bartered them,And we smite with the sword that from yeWe had gained when ye martyred them!
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