Fierce as its sunlight, the East may be proud
Of its gay gaudy hues and its sky without cloud;
Mild as its breezes, the beautiful West
May smile like the valleys that dimple its breast;
The South may rejoice in the vine and the palm,
In its groves, where the midnight is sleepy with balm:
Fair though they be,
There 's an isle in the sea,
The home of the brave and the boast of the free!
Hear it, ye lands! let the shout echo forth--
The lords of the world are the Men of the North!
Cold though our seasons, and dull though our skies,
There 's a might in our arms and a fire in our eyes;
Dauntless and patient, to dare and to do--
Our watchword is "Duty," our maxim is "Through!"
Winter and storm only nerve us the more,
And chill not the heart, if they creep through the door:
Strong shall we be
In our isle of the sea,
The home of the brave and the boast of the free!
Firm as the rocks when the storm flashes forth,
We 'll stand in our courage--the Men of the North!
Sunbeams that ripen the olive and vine,
In the face of the slave and the coward may shine;
Roses may blossom where Freedom decays,
And crime be a growth of the Sun's brightest rays.
Scant though the harvest we reap from the soil,
Yet Virtue and Health are the children of Toil:
Proud let us be
Of our isle of the sea,
The home of the brave and the boast of the free!
Men with true hearts--let our fame echo forth--
Oh, these are the fruit that we grow in the North!