Poetry: Children Of The Glorious Dead

Air - liScots wha luie, wi Wallace bied." Children of the glorious dead, Who for freedoni fought and bied, With her bnnner o'eryou spread, On to viclory. Not for stern ambition's prize, Do our hopes and wishes rise; Lo, our Leader from theskies, Bids usdo or die. Ours is not the tonted Held - Ve no eirthly weapons wield - Light and love, our sword and shield, Truth and panoply. Tliis is proud oppression"s hour, Stormsare round us; shall we cowerï While beneath a despot's power Groans the Suffering slave? While on every southern aí?, Comes the helpless captiBole, And the voice of vom;in'a-wai!, And of man's despair? White our homes and rights are dcar Guarded still with watchful fear, Shall we coldiy turn our ear From the suppliant's prayer? Never! by oiir country's shameNever! by a Saviour'sclaiin, To the men of every name, Whom he died to save. Onward, then. ye fearless band- Heart to heart. and hand to hand; Yours 6hall be ihe patriot's stand- Or the martyr's grave,