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Our land is the dearer of our sacrifices. The blood of our
martyrs sanctifies and enriches it. Their spirit read more
Our land is the dearer of our sacrifices. The blood of our
martyrs sanctifies and enriches it. Their spirit passes into
thousands of hearts. How costly is the progress of the race. It
is only by the giving of life that we can have life.
Hands across the sea,
Feet on English ground,
The old blood is bold blood, the wide world read more
Hands across the sea,
Feet on English ground,
The old blood is bold blood, the wide world round.
A man who won't die for something is not fit to live.
A man who won't die for something is not fit to live.
Father of his country.
[Lat., Pater pariae.]
Father of his country.
[Lat., Pater pariae.]
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.
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.
Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.
Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.
Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree--
It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.
Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree--
It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.
Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel.
Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel.
