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.