The Armory

A home for the brave, the warm, the true,
Who love the old and who love the new:
Whose blood has so oft divinely sealed
Devotion's uttermost gift of life
On the long red ridge of the battlefield,
In the tortuous aftermath of strife,
Content in the pride of the fearless soul
To lengthen the regiment's golden roll.
Gates, bastion and walls and steel-ribbed dome,
The regiment enters its fortress home.
The tramp of the troops, the bugle s bars,
The flash of the swords, the rifles sheen,
And streaming beside the flag of stars,
Lo, Ireland's banner of gold and green,
And ever when these float side by side
Shall the regiment follow or fast abide,
Its battle glories we cannot house;
Its fallen gallants no trump can rouse
To tell the tale of the strife-long years;
The days of scars, the coats in rags;
The laughs, the shouts, the cries, the cheers.
Though we build a home for its tattered flags,
And hear from their far-off battle graves
The call of the chiefs to the younger braves.
But its larger home is our broad free land
With the weltering seas on either hand.
Wherever our flag flames out on high
From the line of snow to the groves of palm,
Wherever the eagle dares the sky,
And the morning song is the freedom psalm,
There sharp to Columbia's trumpet call
It will march to guard, to strike or fall.
Then here let the deathless Celtic race,
In rank and file take their fathers place,
And prouder their spirit since longer here
They ve drunk the strong air from freedom's hills,
And stouter their hearts that their blood runs clear
From the fount that freedom s bosom fills.
And their souls on stronger wings shall soar,
And glory shall wait by the open door.