A song for the Free—the brave and the free—
Who feareth no tyrant’s frown:
Who scorneth to bow, in obeisance low,
To mitre or to crown:
Who owneth no lord with crosier or sword,
And bendeth to Right alone;
Where’er he may dwell, his worth men shall tell,
When a thousand years are gone!

For Tyler of old, a heart-chorus bold
Let Labour’s children sing!
For the smith with the soul that disdain’d base control,
Nor trembled before a king;
For the heart that was brave, though pierced by a knave
Ere victory for Right was won—
They’ll tell his fair fame, and cheer his blythe name,
When a thousand years are gone!

For the high foe of Wrong, great Hampden, a song—
The fearless and the sage!
Who, at king-craft’s frown, the gauntlet threw down,
And dared the tyrant’s rage;
Who away the scabbard threw, when the battle blade he drew,
And with gallant heart led on!
How he bravely fell, our children shall tell,
When a thousand years are gone!

For the mountain child of Scotia wild—
For noble Wallace a strain!
O’er the Border ground let the chaunt resound:
It will not be heard in vain.
For the Scot will awake, and the theme uptake
Of deeds by the patriot done:—
They’ll hold his name dear, nor refuse it a tear,
When a thousand years are gone!

An anthem we’ll swell for bold William Tell,
The peasant of soul so grand!
Who fearlessly broke haughty Gesler’s yoke,
And set free his fatherland:
His deeds shall be sung, with blythesome tongue,
By maiden, sire, and son,
Where the eagles climb o’er the Alps sublime;
When a thousand years are gone.

For our Charter a song! It tarrieth long—
But we will not despair;
For, though Death’s dark doom upon us all may come
Ere we the blessing share,—
Our happy children they shall see the happy day
When Freedom’s boon is won;
And our Charter shall be the boast of the Free,
When a thousand years are gone!