Gray mountains of Mourne—green vallies of Down—
Fair uplands of Farney and true Innishowen—
From your homesteads have come in the day of our need,
The stoutest of champions for country or creed—
⁠The Men of the North.


When darkness and danger encompassed our Isle,
And the Timid made cause with the Venal and Vile—
While her hope was the least, and her hazard the most,
Still, firm as Slievegullion, she found at their post
⁠The Men of the North.


The first to resist the false Saxon were they,
The latest to bend to his tyrannous sway,
In his weakness a goad—in his triumph a curb—
Bear witness Blackwater, Clontibret, Benburb,
⁠For the Men of the North.


Oh! proud was the day, when the charge of the Gael,
Like a thunder-storm scattered the sons of the Pale;
And the strength of the Saxon, like stubble went down
Before the strong septs of the cross and the crown,[1]
⁠The Men of the North.


And what, though our God, to whom glory and praise!
Hath not left to their children the spoil of those days;
Why, more bright be our honour—more goodly our gain,
That he gave gallant hearts to achieve it again
⁠To the Men of the North.


For tell us, ye band of the trusted and true—
Ye citizen-soldiers of stern Eighty-Two,
Who lent you the power to resist and o’ercome
The Foe from without and the Tyrant at home?
⁠’Twas the Men of the North.


And when the dark day of oppression began,
And Power upon reason and truth set her ban,
All threats and seductions they stoutly withstood
Till the cause of their country they sealed with their blood—
⁠These men of the North.


But deep as those epochs of glory we prize,
A prouder and dearer is yet to arise;
And we’ll shrine it, Benburb and Dungannon, above,
In the temple of national honour and love,
⁠The Men of the North.


‘Tis that day, when the strength of the slumbering North,
Again for the land of our love shall come forth;
And speaking stout words, which stout hearts will maintain,
Proclaim our fair country a nation again,
⁠The Men of the North.


For the waters of Bann are unruffled and slow,
And as coldly and calmly our pulses may flow;
But as soon shall you roll back its fathomless tide
As turn from their slow-chosen purpose aside
⁠The Men of the North.


Then, oh! when green Erin her trust and her might,
Shall summon to battle for God and our right—
For the home of our hearts, or the freedom of man,
May one gallant phalanx still march in the van—
⁠The Men of the North.


 [1]. The well-known arms of the confederated chiefs of Ulster.