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248 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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By honor bound in woe or weal
Whate'er she bids he dares to do; Try him with bribes—they won't prevail;
Prove him in fire—you'll find him true. He seeks not safety, let his post
Be where it ought, in danger's van ; And if the field of fame be lost,
It won't be by an Irishman.
Erin ! loved land ! from age to age
Be thou more great, more famed, and free; May peace be thine, or, should'st thou wage
Defensive war, cheap victory. May plenty bloom in every field
Which gentle breezes softly fan, And cheerful smiles serenely gild
The home of every Irishman ! |
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