When they hear the voices of those they love,
Most loud in the holy combat above.

    Wave, wave high the banner!
  When freedom is riding to conquest by:
    Though the slaves that fan her
  Be famine and toil, giving sigh for sigh.
And ye who attend her imperial car,
Lift not your hands in the banded war,
But in her defence whose children ye are.

    Glory, glory, glory,
  To those who have greatly suffered and done!
    Never name in story
  Was greater than that which ye shall have won.
Conquerors have conquered their foes alone,
Whose revenge, pride, and power they have overthrown:
Ride ye, more victorious, over your own.

    Bind, bind every brow
  With crownals of violet, ivy, and pine:
    Hide the blood-stains now