For us, from priests and kings she won rights of such priceless worth
As make the races from her sprung the freemen of the earth;
Free faith, free thought, free speech, free laws, she won through
bitter strife,
That we might breathe unfetter'd air and live unshackled life;
Her freedom boys, thank God! is ours, and little need she fear,
That we'll allow a right she won to die or wither here;
Free-born, to her who made us free, up brothers glass in hand!
"Hope of the free," here's "England!" boys, "God bless the dear old
land!"

They say that dangers cloud her way, that despots lour and threat;
What matters that? her mighty arm can smite and conquer yet;
Let Europe's tyrants all combine, she'll meet them with a smile;
Hers are Trafalgar's broadsides still--the hearts that won the Nile:
We are but young; we're growing fast; but with what loving pride,
In danger's hour, to front the storm, we'll range us at her side;
We'll pay the debt we owe her then; up brothers glass in hand!
"May God confound her enemies! God bless the dear old land!"




THE PLOUGHSHARE OF OLD ENGLAND.

BY ELIZA COOK.


The Sailor boasts his stately ship, the bulwark of the Isle;