Beschreibung:
Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. Oak And Ivy.
They tread the fields where honor calls;
Their voices sound through senate halls
In majesty and power.
To right they cling; the hymns they sing
Up to the skies in beauty ring,
And bolder grow each hour.
Be proud, my Race, in mind and soul;
Thy name is writ on Glory's scroll
In characters of fire.
High 'mid the clouds of Fame's bright sky
Thy banner's blazoned folds now fly,
And truth shall lift them higher.
Thou hast the right to noble pride,
Whose spotless robes were purified
By blood's severe baptism.
Upon thy brow the cross was laid,
And labor's painful sweat-beads made
A consecrating chrism.
No other race, or white or black,
When bound, as thou wert, to the rack,
So seldom stooped to grieving;
No other race, when free again,
Forgot the past and proved them men
So noble in forgiving.
Go on and up! Our souls and eyes
Shall follow thy continuous rise;
Our ears shall list thy story
From bards which from thy root shall spring,
And proudly tune their lyres to sing
Of Ethiopia's glory.
Oak And Ivy.They tread the fields where honor calls;Their voices sound through senate hallsIn majesty and power.To right they cling; the hymns they singUp to the skies in beauty ring,And bolder grow each hour.Be proud, my Race, in mind and soul;Thy name is writ on Glory's scrollIn characters of fire.High 'mid the clouds of Fame's bright skyThy banner's blazoned folds now fly,And truth shall lift them higher.Thou hast the right to noble pride,Whose spotless robes were purifiedBy blood's severe baptism.Upon thy brow the cross was laid,And labor's painful sweat-beads madeA consecrating chrism.No other race, or white or black,When bound, as thou wert, to the rack,So seldom stooped to grieving;No other race, when free again,Forgot the past and proved them menSo noble in forgiving.Go on and up! Our souls and eyesShall follow thy continuous rise;Our ears shall list thy storyFrom bards which from thy root shall spring,And proudly tune their lyres to singOf Ethiopia's glory.