"Watchmen, behold the warnings dire
In final muster for the land
On these gilded mountain tops
The kingdom’s hosts are fortressed fast
Behind the darkened distant hills
Your weary brethren, slumber near
Well rest you on your battered shields
Lay beneath their sheltering ward
As sentries wake the lines to guard
The heroes of a hundred fields
The air burns sweet, the sky now calm
Yet echoes of their combat cries!
Faint, distant, o’r these grassy slopes
O’ spirits of the mighty hill
Envelop now, with waving wings
This holy consecrated ground
Where blood sport came to pass in anger
Give strength to all, this lonely hour
Keep brethren dear now, close to hand
For victory's day is only young! Only young!
They now have fought, and so have striven
Faced with foes, but stood by friends
Battled so that all be free men
Rebellions beacons now alight
Hold brethren dear now, close to hand
For victories day is only young!
Battled so that all be free men
Rebellions beacons now alight!"