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HERE'S TO THE RANGER!
H
E leaves unplowed his furrow, He leaves his books unread For a life of tented freedom By lure of danger led. He's first in the hour of peril, He's gayest in the dance, Like the guardsman of old England Or the beau sabreur of France.
He stands our faithful bulwark Against our savage foe; Through lonely woodland places Our children come and go; Our flocks and herds untended O'er hill and valley roam, The Ranger in the saddle Means peace for us at home.
Behold our smiling farmsteads Where waves the golden grain! Beneath yon tree, earth's bosom Was dark with crimson stain. That bluff the death-shot echoed Of husband, father, slain! 354 |
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