Liberty or Death
Once, in years gone by, there stood Among his fellows bold, A young man, principled and good, Who virtue high did hold. The land oppressed ‘neath tyrant’s rod Now groaned beneath the strain, And those who lived on New World sod Sang freedom’s blest refrain. But kings who ruthless reign upon A twisted throne of greed Will always seek to salt the ground Wherein grows liberty. And as upon the youthful land The tyrant’s gauntlet grasped, This young man stood, no sword in hand, His gaze as clear as glass, And called he to his countrymen Who long had borne the yoke Of despot mad, and soldiers grim, And to his peers he spoke, And asked if life, or peace so sweet, Could chains of slav’ry buy, Or whether, with him would they be, To freedom gain, or die. For liberty is precious, dear, And sacred gift of God; And we ought not, with vision clear, Live ‘neath a despot’s rod.