CALEDONIA, MY COUNTRY!Caledonia, my country! How bright is the fame,Like a halo of glory, that circles thy name;When thy children remember their fathers' renown,Can they, faithless, consent e'er to sully thy crown?In the battles of freedom, the hot fields of fight,Thy great men of old stoutly fought for the right;By their conquering swords, blessed and aided by Heaven,The hosts of the foe from our country were driven.In the fair realms of song thy sons also excel,Midst the gifted of earth do their memories dwell;And of praise of thy minstrels, from nations around,Still the echo returns, with a flattering sound.But purer, and brighter, and higher, by far,Than of those that have triumphed in song or in war,Are the names,—never breathed but with love they are heard,—Of thy fearless Reformers, thy Martyrs revered.Now thy sword is at rest, and thy harp is laid by,But the sword of the Spirit still waves from on high,And the harp of the Lord sounds in majesty forth,As of yore it was heard from the lands of the north.Again, oh, my country! on thy hills of renown,Oppression, relentless, has darkly come down—On the breeze of the mountain is borne the loud wail,And the lowlands reply to the wrongs of the Gael.From the dark page of history shadows are cast,And the woes of the future loom out from the past;There are omens of evil, enshrouded in blood,But in midst of them all, there are tokens of good.
Caledonia, my country! How bright is the fame,Like a halo of glory, that circles thy name;When thy children remember their fathers' renown,Can they, faithless, consent e'er to sully thy crown?In the battles of freedom, the hot fields of fight,Thy great men of old stoutly fought for the right;By their conquering swords, blessed and aided by Heaven,The hosts of the foe from our country were driven.In the fair realms of song thy sons also excel,Midst the gifted of earth do their memories dwell;And of praise of thy minstrels, from nations around,Still the echo returns, with a flattering sound.But purer, and brighter, and higher, by far,Than of those that have triumphed in song or in war,Are the names,—never breathed but with love they are heard,—Of thy fearless Reformers, thy Martyrs revered.Now thy sword is at rest, and thy harp is laid by,But the sword of the Spirit still waves from on high,And the harp of the Lord sounds in majesty forth,As of yore it was heard from the lands of the north.Again, oh, my country! on thy hills of renown,Oppression, relentless, has darkly come down—On the breeze of the mountain is borne the loud wail,And the lowlands reply to the wrongs of the Gael.From the dark page of history shadows are cast,And the woes of the future loom out from the past;There are omens of evil, enshrouded in blood,But in midst of them all, there are tokens of good.
Caledonia, my country! How bright is the fame,Like a halo of glory, that circles thy name;When thy children remember their fathers' renown,Can they, faithless, consent e'er to sully thy crown?In the battles of freedom, the hot fields of fight,Thy great men of old stoutly fought for the right;By their conquering swords, blessed and aided by Heaven,The hosts of the foe from our country were driven.In the fair realms of song thy sons also excel,Midst the gifted of earth do their memories dwell;And of praise of thy minstrels, from nations around,Still the echo returns, with a flattering sound.But purer, and brighter, and higher, by far,Than of those that have triumphed in song or in war,Are the names,—never breathed but with love they are heard,—Of thy fearless Reformers, thy Martyrs revered.Now thy sword is at rest, and thy harp is laid by,But the sword of the Spirit still waves from on high,And the harp of the Lord sounds in majesty forth,As of yore it was heard from the lands of the north.Again, oh, my country! on thy hills of renown,Oppression, relentless, has darkly come down—On the breeze of the mountain is borne the loud wail,And the lowlands reply to the wrongs of the Gael.From the dark page of history shadows are cast,And the woes of the future loom out from the past;There are omens of evil, enshrouded in blood,But in midst of them all, there are tokens of good.
Caledonia, my country! How bright is the fame,Like a halo of glory, that circles thy name;When thy children remember their fathers' renown,Can they, faithless, consent e'er to sully thy crown?
Caledonia, my country! How bright is the fame,
Like a halo of glory, that circles thy name;
When thy children remember their fathers' renown,
Can they, faithless, consent e'er to sully thy crown?
In the battles of freedom, the hot fields of fight,Thy great men of old stoutly fought for the right;By their conquering swords, blessed and aided by Heaven,The hosts of the foe from our country were driven.
In the battles of freedom, the hot fields of fight,
Thy great men of old stoutly fought for the right;
By their conquering swords, blessed and aided by Heaven,
The hosts of the foe from our country were driven.
In the fair realms of song thy sons also excel,Midst the gifted of earth do their memories dwell;And of praise of thy minstrels, from nations around,Still the echo returns, with a flattering sound.
In the fair realms of song thy sons also excel,
Midst the gifted of earth do their memories dwell;
And of praise of thy minstrels, from nations around,
Still the echo returns, with a flattering sound.
But purer, and brighter, and higher, by far,Than of those that have triumphed in song or in war,Are the names,—never breathed but with love they are heard,—Of thy fearless Reformers, thy Martyrs revered.
But purer, and brighter, and higher, by far,
Than of those that have triumphed in song or in war,
Are the names,—never breathed but with love they are heard,—
Of thy fearless Reformers, thy Martyrs revered.
Now thy sword is at rest, and thy harp is laid by,But the sword of the Spirit still waves from on high,And the harp of the Lord sounds in majesty forth,As of yore it was heard from the lands of the north.
Now thy sword is at rest, and thy harp is laid by,
But the sword of the Spirit still waves from on high,
And the harp of the Lord sounds in majesty forth,
As of yore it was heard from the lands of the north.
Again, oh, my country! on thy hills of renown,Oppression, relentless, has darkly come down—On the breeze of the mountain is borne the loud wail,And the lowlands reply to the wrongs of the Gael.
Again, oh, my country! on thy hills of renown,
Oppression, relentless, has darkly come down—
On the breeze of the mountain is borne the loud wail,
And the lowlands reply to the wrongs of the Gael.
From the dark page of history shadows are cast,And the woes of the future loom out from the past;There are omens of evil, enshrouded in blood,But in midst of them all, there are tokens of good.
From the dark page of history shadows are cast,
And the woes of the future loom out from the past;
There are omens of evil, enshrouded in blood,
But in midst of them all, there are tokens of good.