Wednesday, February 27, 2013

The Song of Texas

Frenchmen, if a fate unruly
Drove us from our native land,
We shall still revere her truly,
Though forgot on every hand.
Only Honor lies behind us.---
The laurel grows in Champ d'Asile.
Recollectons here surround us,
We shall never more complain;
Warrior's joys that here are round us
Sweeter are than fortune's gain.
We shall sing of our past glories
At the oxen's earth-clogged heel;
Music to us are those stories---
The laurel grows in Champ d'Asile.
Glory has her names to cherish,
Echoing on every hand;
Soldiers, lest their fame should perish,
Let them reign through Texas Land.
For our God-like ones we're praying,
Servile words our lips would seal;
In other lands they will be saying---
The laurel grows in Champ d'Asile.