Arouse, arouse, arouse!
Ye bold New England men!
No more with sullen brows,
Remain as ye have been:
Your country's freedom calls,
Once bought by patriots' blood;
Rouse, or that freedom falls
Beneath the tyrant's rod!
Three million men in chains,
Your friendly aid implore;
Slight you the piteous strains
That from their bosoms pour?
Shall it be told in story,
Or troll'd in burning song,
New England's boasted glory
Forgot the bondman's wrong?
Shall freeman's sons be taunted,
That freedom's spirit's fled;
That what the fathers vaunted,
With sordid sons is dead?
That they in grovelling gain
Have lost their ancient fire,
And 'neath the despot's chain,
Let liberty expire?
Oh no, your father's bones
Would cry out from the ground;
Ay, e'en New England's stones
Would echo on the sound:
Rouse, then, New England men!
Rally in freedom's name!
In your bosoms once again
Light up the sleeping flame!