The Orange Lark

A song to the lark, the merry, merry lark,
He soars with a spirit's flight
Through the misty clouds that morning shrouds,
He flies to the fountain of light.
He is a true Orangebird, for when William the Third
Led his troops of the first of July,
The lark's merry song cheered the hero along
With melody down from the sky

Then a song to the lark, the merry merry lark,
Who loves in the blue air to swim:
He is the true Orangebird of William the Third,
For he sang him an Orange Hymn.

From his fluttering wings when the dewdrops he flings
They seem, as they glance to the earth
Like atoms of light in their downward flight,
Or sparkles of brilliant mirth.
As he soars into light from the mists of the night.
He's a type of the soul unconfined
Which burst through the clouds which the bigot, the proud
Would have cast o'er the Protestant mind.

Then a song to the lark, the merry merry lark,
Who loves in the blue air to swim:
He is the true Orangebird of William the Third,
For he sang him an Orange Hymn.

How sweet in the vale as the nightingale
Breathes his song to the gloomy stars,
Then the sentinel still encamped on the hill
Thinks of home far away from the wars.
But the lark, O for me, and his wild melody
Piping high like a martial fife,
Its music doth come to the soldier's drum
And quickens the springs of life.

Then a song to the lark, the merry merry lark,
Who loves in the blue air to swim:
He is the true Orangebird of William the Third,
For he sang him an Orange Hymn.

The eagle, great bird is rapacious and proud
Too aristocratic for me
On his throne amidst the rocks human grandeur he mocks
Wrapt up in his royalty
But, O, take my word, the lark is the bird
For true men wherever they be;
His home is the green earth the land of our birth
And his song is the song of the free.

Then a song to the lark, the merry merry lark,
Who loves in the blue air to swim:
He is the true Orangebird of William the Third,
For he sang him an Orange Hymn.

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The Orange Lily'O

And did you go to see the show, each rose and pink a dilly, O!
To feast your eyes, and view the prize, won by the Orange Lily,O!

Heigh ho, the lily'O!
The royal, loyal lily'O!
Beneath the sky
What flower can vie
With Erins Orange Lily'O!

The Viceroy there, so debonaire, just like a daffadilly, O.
With Lady Clarke, blithe as a lark, approached the Orange Lily, O!

Heigh ho, the lily'O!
The royal, loyal lily'O!
Beneath the sky
What flower can vie
With Erins Orange Lily'O!

Then Starting back, he cried good luck, some say he looked quite silly, O!
Oh! deed of woe, must I bestow the prize upon the lily, O!

Heigh ho, the lily'O!
The royal, loyal lily'O!
Beneath the sky
What flower can vie
With Erins Orange Lily'O!

Sir Charley, too, looked very blue, while laughed the Horse Master Billy, O!
To think his EX - a flower should vex, and that an Orange Lily, O!

Heigh ho, the lily'O!
The royal, loyal lily'O!
Beneath the sky
What flower can vie
With Erins Orange Lily'O!

A fairer Flower, throughout the Bower he sought, but willy nilly, O!
With moistened eyes, he gave the prize to Erin's Orange Lily, O!

Heigh ho, the lily'O!
The royal, loyal lily'O!
Beneath the sky
What flower can vie
With Erins Orange Lily'O!

The lowland field may roses yield, gay heaths the Highland hilly, O!
But high or low, no flower can show, like Erins Orange Lily, O.

Heigh ho, the lily'O!
The royal, loyal lily'O!
Beneath the sky
What flower can vie
With Erins Orange Lily'O!

Let dandies fine in Bond Street shine, gay nymphs in Piccadilly, O!
But fine or gay must yield the day to Erin's Orange Lily, O!

Heigh ho, the lily'O!
The royal, loyal lily'O!
Beneath the sky
What flower can vie
With Erins Orange Lily'O!

The elated muse, to hear the news, jumped like a Connaught Filly, O!
As gossip fame did loud proclaim the triumph of the Lily, O!

Heigh ho, the lily'O!
The royal, loyal lily'O!
Beneath the sky
What flower can vie
With Erins Orange Lily'O!

Then come, brave boys, and share her joys, and toast the health of Willy, O!
Who bravely won, on Boynes red shore, the Royal Orange Lily, O!

Heigh ho, the lily'O!
The royal, loyal lily'O!
Beneath the sky
What flower can vie
With Erins Orange Lily'O!

Heigh ho, the lily'O!
The royal, loyal lily'O!
Beneath the sky
What flower can vie
With Erins Orange Lily'O!

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The Orange maid of Sligo

On Ben Bulben's green and lofty height
The evening sun was a setting bright
It gave a ray of a golden light
Around the Bay of Sligo

A tiny craft with glancing oars
And spreading sails, the wind before
It blew the tiny craft ashore
To this, the Bay of Sligo

And at the bow there sat a girl
With lovely cheeks and flaxen curl
Her tender beauty was like a pearl
T'was the Orange maid of Sligo

And glancing o'er the vessel's side
She saw upon the water's glide
An orange lily's golden pride
Upon the Bay of Sligo

"Make haste, make haste and save that flower
I prize it more than any other
No traitor shall have it within his power
Around the Bay of Sligo"

An Orange youth then made a vow,
Brought back that flower and with a bow
Bestowed it on the lovely brow
Of the orange maid of Sligo

She soon became his lovely bride
And oft they thought at even tide
Upon that lily's golden pride
Around the Bay of Sligo

Come all true blues and fill your glass
A better toast will never pass
We'll drink unto that lovely lass
The Orange Maid of Sligo

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The Orange Plant

When first from Eden's holy bowers,
The fragrant breeze that fawned the seed;
The Orange plant, Prince William's flower,
Arose Britannia's noblest tree,
Arose Britannia's noblest tree,
Then hail to the Orange Prince William's tree,
And all Orange hearts beat three times three.

The noblest King on England's throne
He slept beneath its golden leaves,
O'er Holland's towers the beams have shown,
O'er Prussia's field it proudly waves,
O'er Prussia's field it proudly waves.

When other flowers pine and die,
It calmly sleeps in Erin's isle,
To bloom again in sweet July,
And fill our vales with gladening smile,
And fill our vales with gladening smile.

Each loyal bosom wears a branch,
It's an emblem of our nation's pride,
And when in times of deep distress
It closed the roll of battle's tide,
It closed the roll of battle's tide.

Long may its golden branches wave
Its shadows o'er the world wide,
And o'er Victoria's hallowed grave
Let no false traitor o'er deride.
Let no false traitor o'er deride.

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The Orange Volunteers

While statesmen now to treason bow, and loyalty betray,
And traitor knaves with bigot slaves would take our rights away,
To serve their Queen and Country a gallant band appears,
Come let us hail, while cowards quail, "The Orange Volunteers."

Sedition's lamp is burning throughout green Erin's Isle,
And men, all honour spurning, now speak but to beguile,
And to repeal the Union a motley crowd appears,
But hark! they come with fife and drum, "The Orange Volunteers."

Let placemen frown to put them down, and peaceful homes invade,
Oh! never yet by idle threat were Ulstermen dismayed.
They take their stand for native land, and know no paltry fears,
These gallant men from hill and glen, "The Orange Volunteers."

"True in these days, when many change, for profit or for dread,
True to the same old sacred cause for which our fathers bled,"
They'll guard the rights brave William won in fam'd and bygone years,
Then let us toast, our pride and boast, "The Orange Volunteers."

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The Orangeman #1

When Lodges meet our Brethren greet
The Master in the chair,
All hand in hand, in order stand.
And bow their heads in prayer.
In duty next the Bible text
our chaplain doth supply,
To the love of King and Brotherhood,
To the fear of God on high.

To God above we give the praise,
With heart and hand we join,
To celebrate the glorious days
Of Derry and the Boyne.

No treason binds our honest minds,
No rancour moves our arm,
We weave no rope for Preists nor Pope,
We aim at no mans harm.
We fain would give to all who live
A freemans heart and home,
We fain would see from slavery
Benighted sons of Rome.

To God above we give the praise,
With heart and hand we join,
To celebrate the glorious days
Of Derry and the Boyne.

We ponder on our Brethren gone
To dwell with God on high,
We speak of those our country's foes,
Of perils great and nigh.
For King we band for Fatherland
We raise our boven cry.
For Freedoms right we're bold to fight
To conquer or to die.

To God above we give the praise,
With heart and hand we join,
To celebrate the glorious days
Of Derry and the Boyne.

Who wouldn't stand for England's land,
The valiant and the true?
With fife and drum we boldly come:
The Orange and the Blue.
And may each gallant Orangeman
Be as he's ever been -
The traitors foe, the good man's friend,
And loyal to his King.

To God above we give the praise,
With heart and hand we join,
To celebrate the glorious days
Of Derry and the Boyne.

Ye men of the North come boldly forth,
A winsome sight to see:
And let us join our Glorious Boyne
To the waters of the Lee.
Let hills and dales tell thrilling tales
Of heroes passed away,
But Orangemen will march again,
And nobly win the day.

To God above we give the praise,
With heart and hand we join,
To celebrate the glorious days
Of Derry and the Boyne.

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The Orangeman #2

The Orangeman is a man of truth,
Who scorns all fraud and art,
And rear'd in truth, from his early youth,
He has shrin'd it in his heart,
For it proves to him a mighty shield
Against every foeman's dart,
And his life he'd yield, on the blood-stain'd field,
Ere with that bright gem he'd part.

The Orangeman is man of might,
But trusts not in fleshly arm,
He dares to fight for freedom and right,
And he knows no vain alarm.
But Strong in truth, in virtue bold,
He fears no earthly harm,
For his heart's stronghold, like his sires of old,
Is in virtue's potent charm.

The Orangeman is a man of thought,
He dwells upon glories past,
Upon battles fought and great deeds wrought,
Where blew war's deadliest blast,
And remembers mercies heaven bestowed,
When affection's waves roll'd fast,
When man's wrath o'erflowed, on life's rough road
Were thorns and brambles cast.

The Orangeman is a man of faith,
He believes what is written - all,
And reveres till death what the Scripture saith,
No matter what does befall.
He hears, as it were, from heaven's high throne,
His uprisen Master call,
And he takes his cross, and enduring loss,
Bursts through the world's dead thrall.

The Orangeman is a man of prayer,
To heaven looks for aid,
Against want and care and every snare,
For his soul's dread ruin laid.
And a prayerful man is never known
In perils to be afraid,
For God's power is shown when he alone
Can save from the foeman's blade.

The Orangeman is a man of peace,
But purity peace precedes,
And when ills increase, he cannot cease
To be warlike in his deeds.
Thus does he become a man of strife,
Of strife in a holy cause,
And when danger is rife, he would risk his life
For the King, and Church, and Laws.

For the Orangeman is a man of love,
He prays for his enemies,
And he'd seek to move the great King above,
On his humble bended-knees.
He loves the Bible, he loves his King,
And all good men he sees,
He loves the Orange, nor hates the Green,
And he bows to the law's decrees.

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The Orangemans Friend

O! I have been in Lodges grand,
Many Orange friends I've met,
Not one fair scene or kindly smile,
Can Orange hearts forget,
Yet I confess I am content,
No, never will I roam -
Oh, steer not then from Orange truths,
Under Popery to groan.

In Orange hearts there's right good cheer,
And bosoms pure as snow -
In Orange hearts their truths are dear,
Right well do Papists know,
In Orange truths my time I pass,
No, never will I roam -
Oh steer not then from Orange truths,
Under Popery to groan.

England is my birth place,
God bless her enlighten's shore -
O'er Popish isles their truths have spread,
Which Papists burnt and tore,
But pleasant days with friends I pass,
God grant me ne'er to roam -
But to the house of truth to steer,
Where Popery meets its doom.

Orangemen may traverse the polar zone,
And boldly claim his right,
For his flag it has so widely spread,
That the sun ne'er sets on his might,
Let the haughty Orangemen see and know
The place of his home and birth,
And the flush will spread from cheek to brow
As he boasts of his enlighten'd earth.
'Tis a glorious order, deny it who can,
That breathes in the word - "I'm an Orangeman!"

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The Orangemen

Upon the walls of Derry
Our fathers, long ago,
Fought freedom's glorious battle,
Against their country's foe;
Their war-cry, "No Surrender",
Is echoed now again,
By bands of their descendants -
Undaunted Orangemen.

And when the Boyne's clear river
Ran red with human blood,
And the immortal William,
Dashed foremost thro' the flood,
When fell the noble Schomberg
The Prince of Orange, then
Those rights won, which are cherished
By all true Orangemen.

And at fam'd Enniskillen,
And Aughrim, side by side,
Standing so true together,
Our valiant fathers died,
And when the voice of duty,
Called heroes out again,
In Ninety-eight, Loved Ireland,
Was sav'd by Orangemen.

Since then, o'er hill and valley,
The Orange flag has waved,
And tempest, whirlwind, battle,
The sword and fire has braved,
And when rebellion threatened,
What did the warriors then?
They stood for home and altars,
Like faithful Orangemen!

And what would Lord John Russell,
And Viceroy Clarendon,
Have been without the Orange hosts,
If fighting had begun?
Then while alive for truth we'll strive,
And one man shall chase ten,
For God will shield, in camp and field,
Truth-loving Orangemen!

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The Orangemen of Crossmaglen

I'll sing a song of history long,
A struggle for the ulster we all love,
A border town, a village strong,
Whose people made allegiance to the crown,

In Crossmaglen, theres Orangemen,
Whose patriotic flame will never die,
And when you hear the battle cry,
It will be the Orangemen in Crossmaglen,

The IRA's bazoka's roar,
Their armalites go crackle in the night,
But pretty soon, they'll know the score,
The P.A.F. are joining in the fight,

In Crossmaglen, theres Orangemen,
Whose patriotic flame will never die,
And when you hear the battle cry,
It will be the Orangemen in Crossmaglen,

The IRA in Crossmaglen,
Who've killed and maimed the Protestants at home,
And tried to spread their genocide,
Will have to find their sanctuary in Rome,

In Crossmaglen, theres Orangemen,
Whose patriotic flame will never die,
And when you hear the battle cry,
It will be the Orangemen in Crossmaglen,

And some day soon 10,000 strong,
The Ulstermen will march from Belfast town,
To help their Brothers fight the foe,
And rid the IRA from ulsters land,

In Crossmaglen, theres Orangemen,
Whose patriotic flame will never die,
And when you hear the battle cry,
It will be the Orangemen in Crossmaglen

In Crossmaglen, theres Orangemen,
Whose patriotic flame will never die,
And when you hear the battle cry,
It will be the Orangemen in Crossmaglen.

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The Orangemen of Ireland

When Satan sat in Parliament, the Popish Bill to pass,
He laid a snare to force us all to worship him at mass,
The religion of the Bible to abandon and disown,
And bow, like Indian savages, before his gloomy throne.
The Orangemen of Ireland to meet him were not there,
To snaffle him, to baffle him, and break his wily snare.

When Satan's own defenders raised their heads in ninety-five,
'Tis true of them, but few of them can now be found alive,
When they struck the weak and timorous with terror and affright,
And traversed all the provinces in multitudes by night.
The Orangemen of Ireland then started to their post,
Confronted them, and hunted them, until the cause was lost.

When Sampson, and when Emmet, in the days of ninety-eight,
Had plotted a rebellion to destroy the Church and State,
When the rebels they had organised, with muskets took the field,
To make the Lord Lieutenant and legislators yield,
The Orangemen of Ireland, unaided and alone,
Undaunted stood, and shed their blood, and conquered for the throne.

Though watching for calamity on Britains happy land,
To massacre the Protestants in readiness they stand,
Though their Demagogues have told us that the night we ought to watch,
When the murderer shall raise his hand to lift our bedroom latch,
The Orangemen of Ireland, all steady to the Crown,
May rise again with might and main, and put the reptiles down.

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The Purple boy

When first the purple t'was given to man
'Twas on King Solomon's high temple throne
When first the purple 'twas given to man
'Twas on King Solomon's high temple throne.

La Lee Fol Lol Fol Lol La Lee

"Now come tell me darling, come tell me joy,
Come tell me my true purple boy
What are those secrets you love so sweet?"
"I'm afraid those secrets, them I must keep."

La Lee Fol Lol Fol Lol La Lee

Some love the mark, some love the blue,
But I would die for the scarlet too.
Those ribbon rascals I would defy
And I'd wear the colours till the day I die.

La Lee Fol Lol Fol Lol La Lee

Now I wish I wish I were a man,
That I could join in your Orange band
Then all my sorrows would turn to joy
'Twould be rolling in the arms of my purple boy.

La Lee Fol Lol Fol Lol La Lee

Now come all young girls that choose a man,
Choose the purple boy, that's if you can.
For they're the ones that will love you best,
For they wear the mark on their left breast.

La Lee Fol Lol Fol Lol La Lee

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The Relief of Derry

The dreadful days are over, no more the cannons roar,
King James has lost the battle and his flag is seen on more
And here are we renowned and free by maiden walls surrounded -
Poor rebel knaves, vatican slaves,
Fly from the wrath of the Orange and Blue.

The Dartmouth spreads her canvas, her purple pennants wave,
We hail the gallant Browning who all our lives did save,
Like Noah's dove sent from above he brought us peace and safety -
Through flood and flame, our hero came,
Bringing relief for the Orange and Blue.

The vessel strikes the traitrous boom, does pitch and reel and strand
Our papish foes cry out our doom and OPEN GATES demand,
And shrill and high we raise the cry of anguish, grief and pity -
While black with care, and deep to despair,
We do prepare to mourn the Orange and Blue.

But heaven - sent guide and one broadside the gallant barque rebounds
And favouring gale does fill the sail whilst hill and vale resounds,
The joy-bells ring : GOD SAVE THE KING, farewell to grief and sadness -
Poor rebel knaves, vatican slaves,
Fly from the wrath of the Orange and Blue.

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The Ride on the Goat

On the Twelfth of July, in the year 89,
I first took the notion this Order to join,
Then up to the lodge room, and there I did go,
And what I got there you'll very soon know.

On the goat, on the goat,
To get in the Order you ride on the goat.

And when I arrived there I knocked at the door,
There's one they call Master, who stood on the floor,
Come in and sit down, you're welcome he said,
And being surprised, I on him did gaze.

On the goat, on the goat,
To get in the Order you ride on the goat.

Then up came a man with a mallet in his hand,
Saying, dont be alarmed, for I'll do you no harm.
Five hundred miles on a goat you must ride,
A horney or moiley, the master replied.

On the goat, on the goat,
To get in the Order you ride on the goat.

Then the goat was brought forward that I might get on,
And after I mounted they bid him begone,
Through a blind window the goat did go,
Through bogs and wild mountains, and where I don't know.

On the goat, on the goat,
To get in the Order you ride on the goat.

Then after a long and wearisome chase,
The goat he arrived at the very same place,
Approaching the lodge room, I heard them all sing,
Success to the member that made the house ring.

On the goat, on the goat,
To get in the Order you ride on the goat.

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The Royal South Down Militia

I belong to a noble regiment, whose deeds are often told,
For on the field of battle they are always brave and bold,
They've loyal hearts as well, as true as any steel,
And the place they show their bravery is on the battlefield.

For ye talk about your King's Guards, Scots Greys, an a',
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of ev'ry other regiment under the Kings command,
But the South Down Militia is the terror of the land.

Och, boys, but it was grand when we in action first did join,
Along with noble William at the Battle of the Boyne.
Says King James, "I'll take the first train, 'tis more than I can stand,
For them South Down Militia is the terror of the land."

For ye talk about your King's Guards, Scots Greys, an a',
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of ev'ry other regiment under the Kings command,
But the South Down Militia is the terror of the land.

And when we were at Salisbury, in the year of Sev'nty-two,
The Queen of Spain and Duke was there to see the grand review,
"Och bloody wars", the Queen remarked, and waved her lily hand,
"Them South Down Militia is the terror of the land."

For ye talk about your King's Guards, Scots Greys, an a',
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of ev'ry other regiment under the Kings command,
But the South Down Militia is the terror of the land.

Now, there's French, and Turks, and Prooshians, and brave Italians too,
There's Greeks and Ancient Romans, not forgetting the Zulu,
But from Greenlands icy mountains to Injys coral strand,
Och, the South Down Militia is the terror of the land.

For ye talk about your King's Guards, Scots Greys, an a',
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of ev'ry other regiment under the Kings command,
But the South Down Militia is the terror of the land.

Now at the Jubilee the Irish Rifles marched by;
Her Majesty observed them with a keen and martial eye.
"Och Major Wallace", says the Queen, "Them boys of yours look awful grand."
"Och hold your tongue", says Wolseley, "Them's the terror of the land."

For ye talk about your King's Guards, Scots Greys, an a',
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of ev'ry other regiment under the Kings command,
But the South Down Militia is the terror of the land.

When Kruger heard the regiment was landed at Capetown,
"De Wet", says he, "we're bate." Says he "They've sent out the South Downs."
Says De Wet "If that's a fact, me son, we'd better quit the Rand,
For them South Down Militia is the terror of the land."

For ye talk about your King's Guards, Scots Greys, an a',
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of ev'ry other regiment under the Kings command,
But the South Down Militia is the terror of the land.

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The Sash

Sure I'm an Ulster Orangeman,
From Erin's Isle I came,
To see my British brethren
All of honour and of fame,
And to tell them of my forefathers
Who fought in days of yore,
That I might have the right to wear,
The sash my father wore!

It is old, but it is beautiful,
And its colors they are fine
It was worn at Derry, Aughrim,
Enniskillen and the Boyne.
My father wore it as a youth
In bygone days of yore
And on the Twelfth I love to wear
The sash my father wore.

For those brave men who crossed the Boyne
Have not fought or died in vain
Our Unity, Religion, Laws,
And Freedom to maintain,
If the call should come we'll follow the drum,
And cross that river once more
That tomorrow's Ulsterman may wear
The sash my father wore!

It is old, but it is beautiful,
And its colors they are fine
It was worn at Derry, Aughrim,
Enniskillen and the Boyne.
My father wore it as a youth
In bygone days of yore
And on the Twelfth I love to wear
The sash my father wore.

And when some day, across the sea
To Antrim's shore you come,
We'll welcome you in royal style,
To the sound of flute and drum
And Ulster's hills shall echo still,
From Rathlin to Dromore
As we sing again the loyal strain
Of the sash my father wore!

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The Sash my father wore

For its here I am an Orangeman, just come across the sea
For singing and for dancing, I hope that I'll please thee,
I can sing or dance with any man
As I did in days of yore
And its on the Twelfth I long to wear the Sash my Father wore.

It is old but it is beautiful. Its colours they are fine
It was worn at Derry, Aughrim, Enniskillen and the Boyne
My Father wore it as a youth in the bygone days of yore
And its on the Twelfth I long to wear, the Sash my Father wore.

For it's now I'm going to leave you, good luck to you I'll say
And when I'm on the ocean deep, I hope for me you'll pray
I'm going to my native land, to a place they call Dromore
Where on the Twelfth I long to wear the Sash my Father wore.

It is old but it is beautiful. Its colours they are fine
It was worn at Derry, Aughrim, Enniskillen and the Boyne
My Father wore it as a youth in the bygone days of yore
And its on the Twelfth I long to wear, the Sash my Father wore.

Whenever I come back again my brethren here to see
I hope to find old Orange style, they will always welcome me
My favourite tune's "Boyne Water", but to please me more and more
And make my Orange heart full glad with the Sash my Father wore.

It is old but it is beautiful. Its colours they are fine
It was worn at Derry, Aughrim, Enniskillen and the Boyne
My Father wore it as a youth in the bygone days of yore
And its on the Twelfth I long to wear, the Sash my Father wore.

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The Shepherd's boy

One night as I lay on my bed I fell into a dream,
Some rugged paths I thought I crossed and to a sheepfold came,
Down by a brook with scrip and crook a youth I did espy,
I asked his name from whence he came, he said a shepherd’s boy.

The sheepfold being on a plain, near to a camp it lay,
The lovely lambs around their dams did fondly sport and play,
The field were green, all things there seem, to me did yield much joy,
But nothing there I could compare, to that young shepherd’s boy.

He got a pack placed on his back, a staff in his right hand,
This very day I must obey, my father’s just command,
I asked where he was bound for, he made a quick reply,
To yonder camp I must repair although a shepherd’s boy.

My brethren I must go and see, they’re fighting for the king,
This very hour their hearts I’ll cheer, glad tidings I’ll them bring,
I asked him how he would get there or climb yon mount so high,
A mark he said was left to me, to guide the shepherd’s boy.

When he came into the camp there was a terrible sight,
Two armies there they did prepare for to renew the fight,
A man six cubits and a span, his brethren did defy,
None in that place then dare him face, but the young shepherd’s boy.

The king says this Goliath does fill our camp with awe,
Whosoever does this monster kill shall be y son in law,
Then I will go and lay him low, the youth he did reply,
Then go said he Lord be with thee, my valiant shepherd’s boy.

Then out of the brook five stones he took, and placed them in his scrip,
Undauntedly across the lea this gallant youth did trip,
At the first blow he laid him low, cut of his head foreby,
He dropped his sling they made a king of this young shepherd’s boy.

Now to conclude and finish this wond’rous dream of mine,
There’s none but he who is born free shall ever know the sign,
So fill your glass, round let it pass, for I am getting dry,
And toast with me the memory of the young shepherd’s boy.

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The Siege of Drumcree

It was a quiet Sunday
As brethren left prayer,
But one thousand RUC men
Were waiting for them there.

Freddie Hall, he had the choice
That day in Portadown
He told his men, go to Drumcree
And face the Orange down.

They won't protest to us he said
We've done this all before,
What Freddie didn't realise
The Prods could take no more.

Harold Gracey said "We're here
And here we're going to stay,
We have the legal right to walk
Down any Queen's highway.

So go back to Garvaghy
And clear the road for us,
We'll walk with pride and dignity
And we won't make a fuss.

But police put on their riot gear
Preparing for a fight,
And the siege of Drumcree churchyard
Began that Sunday night.

They came from every county
As word was passed around,
The countryside a sea of orange,
Prepared to stand their ground.

The support for loyal Portadown
It really was immense,
Food and drink came pouring in
Some even pitched their tents.

As the siege approached its second night
The police chiefs they all knew
The only way to keep the peace,
Was let the parade pass through.

So on the Tuesday morning
The 11th of July,
The orange walked Garvaghy Road,
With heads and colours high.

No more calls for compromise
Or trying to appease,
The Protestants of Ulster
Have got up off their knees.

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The Somme battle eve

Oh I don't know if you'll ever read this letter,
But I'm writing, anyway, to let you know,
With pen in hand I sit here by the campfire,
And hear my comrades singing soft and low.

I thank you, for years of love and laughter,
For constancy to me through joy and pain,
And I wonder here, "I love you", really matters,
I may never see your lovely face again.

And I'm yearning for the Mists of Dalriada,
And I miss the Lagan River flowing slow,
And I hunger for your love dear,
'Cos when the morning comes dear,
A bugle call, my darling I must go.

Well it seems a million miles from Belfast City,
From home and fire and children growing tall,
At this time when fears and doubts beset me,
Dread night before the Battle of the Somme.

And I don't know what tomorrow holds, my lovely,
As I face the angry thunder of the gun,
When wailing banshee shells explode above me,
And the Valliant Men of Ulster give their blood.

And I'm yearning for the Mists of Dalriada,
And I miss the Lagan River flowing slow,
And I hunger for your love dear,
'Cos when the morning comes dear,
A bugle call, my darling I must go.

And I'm yearning for the Mists of Dalriada,
And I miss the Lagan River flowing slow,
And I hunger for your love dear,
'Cos when the morning comes dear,
A bugle call, my darling I must go.

The air is full of fearful expectations
This gethsemane of waiting's hard to bear,
But memories of you bring consolation,
Well, a shiny rose beneath the tangled wire.

And I need to tell you that I really love you,
And I know I haven't said it for so long,
My heart will hold the fragrance of your love dear,
Tomorrow at the Battle of the Somme.

And I'm yearning for the Mists of Dalriada,
And I miss the Lagan River flowing slow,
And I hunger for your love dear,
'Cos when the morning comes dear,
A bugle call, my darling I must go.

And I'm yearning for the Mists of Dalriada,
And I miss the Lagan River flowing slow,
And I hunger for your love dear,
'Cos when the morning comes dear,
A bugle call, my darling I must go.

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The Sprigs of Kilrea

Youse Protestant heroes give ear to my story
To these simple verses I mean to pen down
Concerning the fame of a few Orange heroes
That sits in George Hunter's in sweet Kilrea town,
I'l pursue back to Derry likewise Cornaferry
Athlone and the Boyne their true light to display.
But I find none so true to the Orange and the Blue
As those few purple sprigs that belong to Kilrea

Then hurra and hurra for the sons of King William,
And down with offenders wherever youse be
You may stop counting beads and quit midnight parades
And put on Orange shoes when you come to Kilrea.

Kilrea is compared with the Garden of Eden,
Its stands well secured on the top of a hill.
It's bound by a river where no unbeliever
Need ever attempt Orange blood for to spill,
There are four trodden footpads that lead through the village
The Orange, the Purple, the Scarlet, the Blue,
On the Twelfth of July sure we all meet up the gether
And at the four corners raise William so true.

Then hurra and hurra for the sons of King William,
And down with offenders wherever youse be
You may stop counting beads and quit midnight parades
And put on Orange shoes when you come to Kilrea.

At the Michaelmas Fair when the goats took to strolling,
They strolled to Kilrea but no shelter was found.
They all lost the mark that they got on Palm Sunday
But we marked them then with a cross on their crown,
The tip lost his bell and ran off to the mountains
And left his whole flock for to roam in dispair
Lamenting the day they had come to Kilrea
To be caught like a ram in the midst of a snare.

Then hurra and hurra for the sons of King William,
And down with offenders wherever youse be
You may stop counting beads and quit midnight parades
And put on Orange shoes when you come to Kilrea.

So youse Protestant heroes on your night of sitting
With loyalty drink to the Milligan's fame
For they are the boys would face back at no noise, sure
Their King and their cause they would always maintain,
And when we're in debt we will pay the last farthing
To them we owe fourpence we're sorry to say
But for sake of revenge we will never want change
For to clear up our debt in the town of Kilrea.

Then hurra and hurra for the sons of King William,
And down with offenders wherever youse be
You may stop counting beads and quit midnight parades
And put on Orange shoes when you come to Kilrea.

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The Victory of the Boyne

High hearts were gather'd to a mortal fight,
Upon the banks of Erin's famous river,
One army battling only for the right,
The other to bind chains on us for ever -
Chains that our fathers nobly scorn'd to wear,
And so they cross'd the Boyne, Great William leading
Soon was King James o'erwhelmed with despair,
And William on to victory proceeding.

Then flow'd the river as calmly as before,
Tho' deeply crimson'd with the recent slaughter,
And none but slaves or tyrants could deplore,
That glorious William crossed the Boyne Water,
For there the kingly chief and warrior strove,
To shield our fathers from a yoke oppressing,
And save for them all that their hearts could love,
The rights and liberties we're now possessing.

It was a victory which placed the throne,
Beyond the reach of tyrants or pretenders,
Bright were the laurels on their brows which shone,
Who were in his great strife the faith's defenders,
Who, wishing to their fellow men no ill,
Still freedom lov'd, and earnestly they sought her,
Duty's high task they all dar'd to fulfil,
And won, like heroes, at the Boyne Water.

And since that battle crush'd the popish sway,
Brought glory, peace, and freedom to the nation,
We will, no matter what pale bigots say,
Still hold the day in glad commemoration.
Here's to the memory of the Orange Prince!
The 'Prentice Boys who Derry's Walls defended,
And all good, and tried, and brave men since,
Who for the Faith and Freedom have contended!

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Three Scottish Soldiers

Three boys came to Belfast their country to serve,
They suffered a fate that no man should deserve.
For they were off duty and out for the day,
Yet all three fell victims of the IRA.
Their sleeping in heavenly peace.
Sleeping in heavenly peace.

Their young lives were over, their duty was done.
Only God knew when that day had begun,
That three Scottish soldiers would each lose their lives,
For being in Belfast to fight on our side
Their sleeping in heavenly peace.
Sleeping in heavenly peace.

Now three lay together in that dark country road,
Still friends in death, they stood by the cause.
For serving our country with honour and pride,
Lets be grateful Belfast they stood by our side.
Their sleeping in heavenly peace.
Sleeping in heavenly peace.

To the people in Scotland, my God what a blow.
They can?t understand who could sink so low ,
They think here in Belfast there was nothing but scorn
For the Queen?s Colours these three boys had worn.
If only they knew how we cried
When we learned how these boys had died.

We must stand firm in Ulster, we must make it plain,
That these Scottish soldiers had not died in vain.
We must show the whole country that Ulster is true,
And the good people here love the red white and blue.
Lets never forget what it cost.
To make sure our Ulster's not lost.

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Times are a changing

Come on you young brethren and listen to me
And pledge that your country stays loyal and free
And step proudly forth each 12th of July
And let Dublin know now that Ulster wont die

And if you love your country you'll stand up and cry
That the times they are a-changing

For the people in Dublin with their gold,white and green
They don't want the border, they don't want the Queen
But the Queen and the border we'll never deny
We'll fight to defend them and Ulster wont die.

And if you love your country you'll stand up and cry
That the times they are a-changing

Now Armagh and Antrim Londonderry and Down
Tyronne and Fermanagh remain true to the crown
They remember Lord Carson, his famous reply
No home rule for Ireland and Ulster wont die.

And if you love your country you'll stand up and cry
That the times they are a-changing

For the red hand of Ulster, the red white and blue
are the symbols of freedom for me and for you
let your watchword be courage, let the union jack fly
for we wont surrender and Ulster wont die.

And if you love your country you'll stand up and cry
That the times they are a-changing

And if you love your country you'll stand up and cry
That the times they are a-changing

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Tribute

Captured in mud, a captor of fear,
Based in Thiepval our young Volunteers.
Barbed wire all around them,
Rifle in hand, prayer book in pocket,
They died for this land.

First rays of morning, the first of July,
Out from the trenches, No Surrender the cry.
The slaughter it started, the guns they did roar.
They fell on the Somme in the Sashes that they wore.

Decorations were numerous, nine VC’s were won.
Mustered by Carson to take up the gun,
They came home from Europe and Ulster she mourned,
Thousands of young men from their families were torn.

First rays of morning, the first of July,
Out from the trenches, No Surrender the cry.
The slaughter it started, the guns they did roar.
They fell on the Somme in the Sashes that they wore.

Their deeds they are legend and never will die,
For God and for Ulster their deeds testify.
Their resolve is as strong now in 2002,
This 90th Anniversary is a tribute to you.

First rays of morning, the first of July,
Out from the trenches, No Surrender the cry.
The slaughter it started, the guns they did roar.
They fell on the Somme in the Sashes that they wore.

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