Poems (Blake)/Our Record
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OUR RECORD.
Who casts a slur on Irish worth, a stain on Irish fame,—
Who dreads to own his Irish blood or wear his Irish name,—
Who scorns the warmth of Irish hearts, the clasp of Irish hands?
Let us but raise the vail to-night and shame him as he stands.
Who dreads to own his Irish blood or wear his Irish name,—
Who scorns the warmth of Irish hearts, the clasp of Irish hands?
Let us but raise the vail to-night and shame him as he stands.
The Irish fame! It rests enshrined within its own proud light,
Wherever sword or tongue or pen has fashioned deed of might;
From battle charge of Fontenoy to Grattan's thunder tone,
It holds its storied past on high, unrivaled and alone.
Wherever sword or tongue or pen has fashioned deed of might;
From battle charge of Fontenoy to Grattan's thunder tone,
It holds its storied past on high, unrivaled and alone.
The Irish blood! Its crimson tide has watered hill and plain
Wherever there were wrongs to crush, or freemen's rights to gain;
No dastard thought, no coward fear, has held it tamely by
When there were noble deeds to do, or noble deaths to die!
Wherever there were wrongs to crush, or freemen's rights to gain;
No dastard thought, no coward fear, has held it tamely by
When there were noble deeds to do, or noble deaths to die!
The Irish heart! The Irish heart! God keep it fair and free,
The fullness of its kindly thought, its wealth of honest glee,
Its generous strength, its ardent faith, its uncomplaining trust,
Though every worshiped idol breaks and crumbles into dust.
The fullness of its kindly thought, its wealth of honest glee,
Its generous strength, its ardent faith, its uncomplaining trust,
Though every worshiped idol breaks and crumbles into dust.
And Irish hands, aye, lift them up; embrowned by honest toil,
The champions of our western world, the guardians of the soil;
When flashed their battle swords aloft, a waiting world might see
What Irish hands could do and dare to keep a nation free.
The champions of our western world, the guardians of the soil;
When flashed their battle swords aloft, a waiting world might see
What Irish hands could do and dare to keep a nation free.
They bore our starry flag above through bastion, gate, and wall,
They stood before the foremost rank, the bravest of them all;
And when before the cannon's mouth they held the foe at bay,
O never could old Ireland's heart beat prouder than that day!
They stood before the foremost rank, the bravest of them all;
And when before the cannon's mouth they held the foe at bay,
O never could old Ireland's heart beat prouder than that day!
So when a craven fain would hide the birthmark of his race,
Or slightly speak of Erin's sons before her children's face,
Breathe no weak word of scorn or shame, but crush him where he stands
With Irish worth and Irish fame, as won by Irish hands.
Or slightly speak of Erin's sons before her children's face,
Breathe no weak word of scorn or shame, but crush him where he stands
With Irish worth and Irish fame, as won by Irish hands.