How do I bemoan the loss of something sacred, true

That all I could acquire is dross compared to its beauteous view

Attained its gleam begins to fade as in its gifts we bask

Of grace and blood bestowed and bade to be worthy of the task


But now we see the memories lost and with it the resolve

To keep that bought at unfathomed cost now torn from us, dissolved

We will not rest, we will rise up and throw off this heathen hand

That bids us take and drink this cup that stains our native land


Our fathers fought, and bled, and died to bestow on us this kingdom

We will not sit, we will not bide while usurpers take our FREEDOM