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'Tis joy to be a Ranger! to fight for dear Southland ! 'Tis joy to follow Wharton, with his gallant, trusty hand! 'Tis joy to see our Harrison plunge, like a meteor bright, Into the thickest of the fray, and deal his deadly might, Oh ! who'd not be a Ranger, and follow Wharton's cry! And battle for their country, and, if needs be, die ?
By the Colorado's waters, on the Gulf's deep murmuring
shore, On our soft, green, peaceful prairies, our home we may see
no more, But in those homes our gentle wives, and mothers with
silvery hairs, Are loving us with tender hearts, and shielding us with
prayers. So trusting in our country's God, we draw our stout good
brand, For those we love at home, our altars and our land.
Up ! up! with the crimson battle flag, let the blue pennon
fly; Our steeds are stamping proudly, they hear the battle cry ! The thundering bomb, the bugle's call, proclaim the foe is
near: "We strike for God and native land, and all we hold most
dear. Then spring into the saddle, and shake the bridle free, For Wharton leads, thro' fire and blood, for Home and
Victory. |
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