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(As sung by Hugh MacDonald)

To Scotland's ancient realm, proud England's armies came
To sap our freedom and o'erwhelm our martial force in shame.
"It shall not be !" brave Wallace cried ; "It shall not be !" his Chiefs replied.
"By the name our fathers gave her, our steel shall drink the crimson stream,
"We'll all her ancient rights redeem; Our own broad swords shall save her !"

With hopes of triumph flushed, the squadrons hurried o'er
thy bridge Kildean ; and heaving, rushed like wild waves to the shore.
"They come, they come," was the gallant cry, "They come, they come," the loud reply.
O strength Thou gracious giver of love and freedom's stainless faith,
We'll dare the darkest night of death and drive them back for ever.

High o'er the waving broom, in chivalry and grace
Shone England's radiant spear and plume, by Stirling's rocky base, 
And stretching far beneath the view, the bloody Saxon banners flew.
When, like a torrent rushing, oh God ! from left and right the flame,
Of Scottish Swords like lightning came, those English legions crushing.

High praise ye gallant band, who in the face of day,
Have fought for right gainst England's might and cast your chains away.
The foemen fell on every side. In purple hues the Forth was dyed;
Bedewed with blood the heather, while cries triumphant shook the air.
Thus shall we do.
Thus shall we dare.
Wherever Scotsmen rally !



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