  CÆlum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt. A trumpet blast is pealing ’Mongst Albion’s echoing hills, Arousing every feeling That patriot’s bosom thrills: O’er hill and dale resounding, It sends its loud alarm; The Freeman’s war-cry sounding,— “For Hearths and Altars, arm!” A Despot’s monster legions Are on their haughty way; A Despot’s warlike regions Send forth their proud array, To raze the broad foundations Of Freedom’s Temple shrine, And from among the nations To blot her name divine. From peasant’s lowly dwelling; From baron’s ancient hall, With bosoms proudly swelling, Rise! sons of England, ALL! From Cambria’s vales of beauty, “Britons” of Britain, come, Prompt at the call of duty, With strong right arm “strike home!” From every mist-clad mountain, Sons of the hardy North, From lake, and glen, and fountain, Come in your manhood forth. From Eastern fen and plainland, From Western tarn and fell, From islet, rock, and mainland The nation’s gathering swell. “We come!” in tones of thunder, Rings echoing round the land; “We come!” and scenes of wonder Burst forth on every hand. Herdsmen to heroes grown, And rise, in living barriers, Around Victoria’s throne. Peasant and peer are joining, Yeoman with baron stands; Strength, wealth, and rank combining, And nerving hearts and hands. Loyal, if “horny-handed,” Industry’s thousands come; In brother’s compact banded For Altar, Throne, and Home. Hear it! to Heaven ascending, A nation’s solemn vow; While, at His altar bending, To God alone they bow. “No foreign Home invading, We strike no foreign throne; But,—God from Heaven aiding, To death we guard OUR OWN.” Rev. H. H. Dugmore. July 2, 1861. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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