Camp Song of the Chicago Irish Brigade Songtext
von David Kincaid

Ye sons of green Erin, assemble
And join in the battle′s array
The usurpers and traitors shall tremble
When they see the brigade in the fray
Go and march to the battlefield proudly,
Let the foe at your might be dismayed
And the trumpet of fame shall sound loudly
The praise of the Irish Brigade


Old Grann now looks over the ocean
And hears the fierce bugle of Mars
And the strength of her hearts high devotion
Is roused for the Stripes and the Stars
And she raises her voice loud as thunder,
That voice which was always obeyed
Saying, "Boys, cut the rebels a-sunder,
With the swords of the Irish Brigade!"

In view of the guilt and the treason,
The goddess of liberty sighs
Let us up and defend her in season,
And bring back the joy of her eyes
Bear the stars and the stripes o'er you proudly,
And ne′er let your march be delayed
'Til the foe flies in terror before you,
When charged by the Irish Brigade
Go and march to the battlefield proudly,
Let the foe at your might be dismayed
And the trumpet of fame shall sound loudly
The praise of the Irish Brigade!