Song Of Freedom (To My Countrymen)

Come patriots all, both great and small,
Today join hand in hand;
And hear the call, ye freemen all,
That rings thro' Newfoundland.

The traitor's boast has shook the coast.
He'll "wade thro' blood to power."
Let not such shame e'er blot our name,
In such a fatal hour.

Then men we've tried are at our side,
And recreants false before us;
Let us decide what e'er betide,
That true men shall rule o'er us.

The men of gall who tried last Fall,
To humbug and deceive you;
Being now found out, we'll put to rout,
In right good style, believe you.

They knew 'twas rash, but made the dash,
But sure 'twas worth the doing;
If only we could fooled be,
Nor see the plot was brewing.

Could we be sold, Canadian gold,
Our chartered rights would 'prive us;
While Britain's gain would be our bane.
No sorrow there would shrive us.

But ere too late, we mourn our fate,
Be loyal sons and daughters;
And hold enshrined in hearts entwined,
This loved land midst the waters.

Say to the knaves that you're not slaves,
But love the constitution;
Your children free must ever be,
All else would be delusion.

Confederation? No's the cry,
That echoes o'er the ocean;
And now for us, 'tis do or die,
With patriot's true devotion.

Let none so base as would disgrace,
Our colours triple blended;
Or give the reins, who'd forge the chains,
When freedom's day is ended.

Newfoundlanders born, now treat with scorn,
Those bribes they flaunt before you;
For false the hand with proffers bland,
As sages old assure you.

Our Irish true and British, too,
And Scot will join together;
And strike a blow - make Morris go!
Like dust in windy weather.

Then shout the song, both loud and long -
We're Bond's men true as steel;
Rise in your might, defend the right,
And make the traitors reel.

On that dread day, the eighth of May,
Let hirelings down be hurled;
The flag we love floats free above,
Must ne'er, O, ne'er be furled.