May you live all the days of your life.

May you live all the days of your life.

Our country--whether bounded by the St. John's and the Sabine, or
however otherwise bounded or described, and be the read more

Our country--whether bounded by the St. John's and the Sabine, or
however otherwise bounded or described, and be the measurements
more or less;--still our country, to be cherished in all our
hearts, and to be defended by all our hands.

Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land?

Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land?

Drink to her that each loves best,
And if you nurse a flame
That's told but to read more

Drink to her that each loves best,
And if you nurse a flame
That's told but to her mutual breast,
We will not ask her name.

There are many different voice and languages; but there is but
one voice of the peoples when you are read more

There are many different voice and languages; but there is but
one voice of the peoples when you are declared to be the true
"Father of your country."
[Lat., Vox diversa sonat: populorum est vox tamen una,
Cum verus Patriae diceris esse Pater.]

Here's to you, as good as you are,
And here's to me, as bad as I am;
read more

Here's to you, as good as you are,
And here's to me, as bad as I am;
But as good as you are, and as bad as I am,
I am as good as your are, as bad as I am.

Here's a health to the lass with the merry black eyes!
Here's a health to the lad with the read more

Here's a health to the lass with the merry black eyes!
Here's a health to the lad with the blue ones!

If you can't get them to salute when they should salute and wear the clothes you tell them to wear, read more

If you can't get them to salute when they should salute and wear the clothes you tell them to wear, how are you going to get them to die for their country?

St. Leon raised his kindling eye,
And lifts the sparkling cup on high;
"I drink to one," read more

St. Leon raised his kindling eye,
And lifts the sparkling cup on high;
"I drink to one," he said,
"Whose image never may depart,
Deep graven on this grateful heart,
Till memory be dead."
. . . .
St. Leon paused, as if he would
Not breathe her name in careless mood
Thus lightly to another;
Then bent his noble head, as though
To give the word the reverence due,
And gently said, "My mother!"