Go under his standard and fight by his side,
O’er mountains and billows you’ll then safely ride;
His gracious protection will be to you given,
And bright crowns of glory he’ll give you in heaven.

WE’RE COMING!  WE’RE COMING.

AIR—­Kinloch of Kinloch.

We’re coming, we’re coming, the fearless and free,
Like the winds of the desert, the waves of the sea! 
True sons of brave sires who battled of yore,
When England’s proud lion ran wild on our shore! 
We’re coming, we’re coming, from mountain and glen,
With hearts to do battle for freedom again;
Oppression is trembling as trembled before
The slavery which fled from our fathers of yore.

We’re coming, we’re coming, with banners unfurled,
Our motto is FREEDOM, our country the world;
Our watchword is LIBERTY—­tyrants beware! 
For the liberty army will bring you despair! 
We’re coming, we’re coming, we’ll come from afar,
Our standard we’ll nail to humanity’s car;
With shoutings we’ll raise it, in triumph to wave,
A trophy of conquest, or shroud for the brave.

Then arouse ye, brave hearts, to the rescue come on!  The man-stealing army we’ll surely put down; They are crushing their millions, but soon they must yield, For freemen have risen and taken the field.  Then arouse ye! arouse ye! the fearless and free, Like the winds of the desert, the waves of the sea; Let the north, west, and east, to the sea-beaten shore, Resound with a liberty triumph once more.

ON TO VICTORY.

AIR—­Scots wha hae.

Children of the glorious dead,
Who for freedom fought and bled,
With her banner o’er you spread,
  On to victory. 
Not for stern ambition’s prize,
Do our hopes and wishes rise;
Lo, our leader from the skies,
  Bids us do or die.

Ours is not the tented field—­
We no earthly weapons wield—­
Light and love, our sword and shield,
  Truth our panoply. 
This is proud oppression’s hour;
Storms are round us; shall we cower? 
While beneath a despot’s power
  Groans the suffering slave?

While on every southern gale,
Comes the helpless captive’s tale,
And the voice of woman’s wail,
  And of man’s despair? 
While our homes and rights are dear,
Guarded still with watchful fear,
Shall we coldly turn our ear
  From the suppliant’s prayer?

Never! by our Country’s shame—­
Never! by a Saviour’s claim,
To the men of every name,
  Whom he died to save. 
Onward, then, ye fearless band—­
Heart to heart, and hand to hand;
Yours shall be the patriot’s stand,
  Or the martyr’s grave.

THE MAN FOR ME.

AIR—­The Rose that all are praising.

O, he is not the man for me,
  Who buys or sells a slave,
Nor he who will not set him free,
  But sends him to his grave;
But he whose noble heart beats warm
  For all men’s life and liberty;
Who loves alike each human form,
  O, that’s the man for me.