’TIS the shrill of the bugle, borne over the ocean,
A thousand hearts leap to the battle begun,
’Tis the death-dealing struggle, the blood-mad commotion,
The clangor and clamor of drums and of men.
O land of my fathers, thy exiled sons hear thee,
A thousand hearts leap to the battle begun,
And send back a cry o’er the ocean to cheer thee:
“Our Fatherland ever, fight on! O, fight on!”
And they pray, “May the Lord God of Battles defend thee,
Encompassed by foemen, black, yellow, and white!”
And they pray, “May the Lord God of Battles but send thee
The palm leaf of triumph, for thine is the Right!”
What matter if all the world doubt thee, unknowing?
What matter if falsehood be foe to thy gun?
What matter if blood-brother seek thy undoing?—
If a world be thy battle-field?—Fight!—and fight on!
Though comrade turn traitor, though truth be found lying,
Though o’er rivers of blood thy bridges be won,
Though thy path lie o’er mounds of the dead and the dying,
Thine, thine is the triumph, if still thou fight on!