No snarling danger in its den
Can make our courage quail;
No prowling savage of the fen
Will turn our color pale,
Nor treachery of brother men
Make our endeavor fail.
With freedom are our furrows filled,
To blossom in the spring.
To freedom run the roads we build:
“_Freedom!_” the gray walls sing.
For FREEDOM is the word we willed
Should through the ages ring!