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SONG OF THE SIXTY-NINTH. 14 7
Then fling out the banner, on high let it wave While millions of freemen surround it;
Our children, whenever we sink in the grave, Shall inherit that flag as we found it.
Neither renegade traitor, with dastardly hand,
Nor foreign assailant shall rend it, While an Irish-American stands on the soil
With a heart and an arm to defend it.
Then up with the standard — up, up with the flag Before which proud Albion's red ensign
Trailed humbly in dust, an anath'matized rag, Degraded at Yorktown and Trenton.
Then up with the banner, on high let it wave,
Hurrah ! 't is the flas of the world ! We swear before Heaven to fight and to save,
Or to fall, while it still is unfurled.