William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
Rise, Sons of FreedomTune—“Rise, Columbia”
A
High let the hymn of rapture peal;
Breathe there, who hate a tyrant’s sway?
Breathe there, who love their country’s weal?
Rise! sons of Freedom! bless the hour
That broke the chains of foreign power.
Who for their country boldly dared,
And mid the battle’s fiercest blaze,
To meet the storm their bosoms bared,
And there in glory sunk at rest
With virtue’s holiest requiems bless’d.
Dear to the brave—as honour dear;
Thine was the soul for valour’s deed,
And thine was mercy’s generous tear.
Ne’er gallant spirit tower’d more high,
Nor nobler shall in battle die.
With foul dishonour stain their graves?
And shall the soil that wraps the dead,
Nurse on its bosom recreant slaves?
Forbid, kind Heaven, the deep disgrace,
And save from blast thy chosen race.
Let from their sheathes your falchions leap,
And, where the battle’s banners wave,
And where its thunders plough the deep,
Instant, ye gallant bands, repair,
Resolved to die or conquer there.
And point the hour of vengeance near,
In lightnings flash their kindling eyes,
And chase affection’s lingering tear.
They bid you hasten to the field,
And but with life the victory yield.
He who directs the rolling sphere
Shall smite the oppressor to the dust,
And guide the patriot’s bright career.
Rise, sons of Freedom! rise, once more,
And guard from wrongs your native shore.