A Song for the Irish Militia

I.

The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in prostrate men;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the crop so bravely sown!
No more I'll sing nor idly pine,
But train my soul to lead a line —
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

II.

No foe would fear your thunder words
If 'twere not for our light'ning swords —
If tyrants yield when millions pray,
'Tis lest they link in war array;
Nor peace itself is safe, but when
The sword is sheathed by fighting men —
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

III.

The rifle brown and sabre bright
Can freely speak and nobly write —
What prophets preached the truth so well
As H OFER , B RIAN , B RUCE , and T ELL ?
God guard the creed these heroes taught, —
That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought,
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

IV.

Then, welcome be the bivouac,
The hardy stand, and fierce attack,
Where pikes will tame their carbineers,
And rifles thin their bay'neteers,
And every field the island through
Will show " what Irishmen can do! "
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

V.

Yet, 'tis not strength, and 'tis not steel
Alone can make the English reel;
But wisdom, working day by day,
Till comes the time for passion's sway —
The patient dint, and powder shock,
Can blast an empire like a rock.
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

VI.

The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in slavish men;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown.
No more I'll sing, no more I'll pine,
But train my soul to lead a line —
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
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