Hail, Independence of old ways ! Old worlds ! The West declares the West, Her storied ways, her gloried days, Because the West deserveth best. This new, true land of noblest deeds Has rights, has sacred rights and needs. Sing, ye who may, this natal day; Of dauntless thought, of men of might, In lesser lands and far away. But truth is truth and right is right. And, oh, to sing like sounding flood, These boundless boundaries writ in blood! Three thousand miles of battle deeds, Of burning Moscows, Cossacks, snows ; Then years and years of British greed, Of grasping greed; of lurking foes. I say no story ever writ Or said, or sung, surpasses it! And who has honored us, and who Has bravely dared stand up and say: "Give ye to Caesar Caesar's due?" Unpaid, unpensioned, mute and gray, Some few survivors of the brave, Still hold enough land for a grave. How much they dared, how much they won- Why, o'er your banner of bright stars, Their star should be the blazing sun Above the battle star of Mars |