We, that would be known
The father of our people, in our study,
And vigilance for their read more

We, that would be known
The father of our people, in our study,
And vigilance for their safety, must not change
Their ploughshares into swords, and force them from
The secure shade of their own vines, to be
Scorched with the flames of war.

I was born an American; I live an American; I shall die an
American!

I was born an American; I live an American; I shall die an
American!

Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight?
Who blushes at the name?
When cowards mock the patriot's fate,
read more

Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight?
Who blushes at the name?
When cowards mock the patriot's fate,
Who hangs his head for shame?

Patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to all others because you were born in it.

Patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to all others because you were born in it.

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.]

I wish I was in de land ob cotton,
Ole times dar am not forgotten,
Look-a-way! Look-a-way! read more

I wish I was in de land ob cotton,
Ole times dar am not forgotten,
Look-a-way! Look-a-way! Look-a-way, Dixie Land!
. . . .
Den I wish I was in Dixie, Hooray! Hooray!
In Dixie Land I'll take my stand
To lib and die in Dixie.

That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain
force upon the plain of Marathon, or read more

That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain
force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow
warmer among the runs of Iona.

Our ships were British oak,
And hearts of oak our men.

Our ships were British oak,
And hearts of oak our men.

The line of red are lines of blood, nobly and unselfishly shed by
men who loved the liberty of read more

The line of red are lines of blood, nobly and unselfishly shed by
men who loved the liberty of their fellowmen more than they loved
their fellowmen more than they lover their own lives and
fortunes. God forbid that we would have to use the blood of
America to freshen the color of the flag. But if it should ever
be necessary, that flag will be colored once more, and in being
colored will be glorified and purified.