Loyal Heart

From Loyal veins my life I drew
In Loyal arms I lay
From Loyal Lips that Lessons new
That led me day by day
And hearts to rest in Loyal Breast
And rocked on Loyal knee
They wore and grew and thank God too
A Loyal Heart in me.

Then came the day for all to view
When scorn and lies held sway
Those evil men with no virtue
They swore my life away
But for dare or ill I am Loyal Still
They never can decree
To force retreat or stop the beat
The Loyal Heart in me.

At times I sigh at times I rest
Amid Scenes and faces strange
The passing years have in my breast
Brought little or no change
Memories of old ever bright I hold
Since rocked on Loyal knee
And for her sake no jail will break
This Loyal Heart in me.

Hands Across the Water

Just across the Irish Sea
Stirs a heart of Loyalty
Raised in Honour and in dignity
Drives a will to keep us British free
Not alone are we on this journey
For in a land just across the sea
Is a hand that reaches out in friendship
And a bond thats lasted centuries

And it''s hands across the water
Reaching out for you and me
For Queen, For Ulster and For Scotland
Helps to keep our Loyal people free
Let the cry be "No Surrender"
Let no-one doubt this Loyalty
Reaching out to the Brave Red Hand of Ulster
Is the hand across the sea

Sandy Row

I have been a wanderer all my life, I'll roam this time no more
But now I'm sailing back again, back to old Ulster's shores
To settle down in Belfast town in a place that you all know
Sure it fills my heart with gladness when I think of Sandy Row.

When I recall my childhood days, a tear comes to my eye
I think of all the brethren on the 12th day of July
For the music of the bands that day, it sets my heart a glow
As we marched along together down the streets of Sandy Row.

Now whenever I have settled down, I never more will roam
Away from dear old Ulster, for it is my home sweet home
I'll get myself a little house, my children there will grow
With all my loyal brethren in the streets of Sandy Row.

And now my song is finished and my head I will lay down
I am proud that I am loyal to the Red Hand and the Crown
The people that will meet me now, for off this ship I go
Will be the people that I love, who live in Sandy Row

'Derry's Walls

The time has scarce gone by boys
Two hundred years ago
When Rebels on old Derry's Walls
Their faces dare not show
When James and all his rebel band
Came up to Bishops Gate
With heart and hand and sword and shield
We caused them to retreat.

Chorus.

Then fight and don''t surrender
But come when duty calls,
With heart and hand and sword and shield
We''ll guard old Derry''s Walls.

The blood it did flow in the streams
Full many a winter's night
They knew the Lord was on their side
To help them in the fight
They only stood upon the walls
Determined for to fight,
To fight and gain the victory
And hoist the Crimson high;

Chorus.

At last, at last with one broadside
kind heavens sent their aid
The boom was broke that crossed Foyle
And James he was dismayed
The Banner, boys that floated
Was run aloft with joy
God bless the hands that broke the boom
And saved Apprentice Boys.

Londonderry on the Foyle

Tonight I dream about my Maiden city
I''ll go back to the days I spent there as a boy
I dream about the friends I left behind me
in my city, Londonderry on the Foyle

Well my mother she writes to my here twice weekly
and she tells me all the things are going on
and she tells me of the bombings and the shootings
in my city, Londonderry on the Foyle

But tonight I lay upon my bed I''m dreaming
I am dreaming of the friends I left behind me
And I dream about my sweetheart in the Fountain
In my city, Londonderry on the Foyle

But once more I am coming home aboard the steamship
On Lough Foyle once more I''m passing by Culmore
And I see those old walls still standing
They're round my city Londonderry on the Foyle

I can see the old cathedral it''s still standing
and not far away the old Memorial Hall
And I see the crimson banner, it''s still flying
Over my city Londonderry on the Foyle.

Ulster Won't Die

Come all ye young brethren
And listen to me
And pledge that your country
Stays loyal and free
And step proudly forth
Each twelfth of July
And let Dublin know now
That Ulster won’t die
And if you love your country
You’ll stand up and cry
That the times they are a changing.

For the people in Dublin
With their gold, white and green
They don’t want the Border
They don’t want the Queen
But the Queen and the Border
We’ll never deny
We’ll fight to defend them
So Ulster won’t die
And if you love your country
You’ll stand up and cry
That the times they are a changing.

Now Armagh and Antrim
Londonderry and Down
Tyrone and Fermanagh
Remain true to the crown
They remember Lord Carson
His famous reply
No home rule for Ireland
And Ulster won’t die
And if you love your country
You’ll stand up and cry
That the times they are a changing.

For the red hand of Ulster
The red, white and blue
Are the symbols of freedom
For me and for you
Let your watch word be courage
Let your Union Jack fly
For we won’t surrender
And Ulster won’t die,
And if you love your country
You’ll stand up and cry
That the times they are a changing.

Fields of Ulster

Oh father, dear father
Why are the fields so green
Oh no my son, Oh no my son
It’s not the way it seems
In our dear land from end to end
Though sometimes seldom shows
In every field of Ulster soil
The Orange Lily grows.

The Fields of Ulster
The Fields of Ulster
The good Lord ploughed and sowed
The Fields of Ulster
The Fields of Ulster
Where the Orange Lily grows.

That safest hour, darkest hour
The emblem of our faith
Was worn across the century
By Ulster soldiers brave
Its debt is spreading far and wide
Until the whole world knows
In every field of Ulster soil
The Orange Lily grows.

The Fields of Ulster
The Fields of Ulster
The good Lord ploughed and sowed
The Fields of Ulster
The Fields of Ulster
Where the Orange Lily grows.

Oh father, dear father
Take heart and be of cheer
I’m off to join that gallant band
The Ulster Volunteers
For as long as Derry’s walls still stand
And the River Boyne still flows
In every field of Ulster soil
The Orange Lily grows.

The Fields of Ulster
The Fields of Ulster
The good Lord ploughed and sowed
The Fields of Ulster
The Fields of Ulster
Where the Orange Lily grows.

The Blackman's Making Song

One night I left my native home, to my lodgeroom I went,
My brethren all were sitting there, and seemed to be content.
Soon one request I asked of them, if they would grant to me,
Another step along the road that leads to liberty.

When I began the mount to climb — Mount Horeb was its name —
I saw a bush was burning, just in a mighty flame;
When I beheld the mighty blaze, I knew not what to say,
I then went to Mount Carmel, like old prophets, for to pray.

And when my prayers were ended, out of the East did rise,
A little cloud like a man’s hand, which did me much surprise.
The next demand was made to me, my chariot to prepare.
With speed I drove along the way like eagles in the air.

Then went I to Golgotha — went to drink a health to all,
The toast went round, my name was found, sirs, brethren we are all.
Then straight to Jericho I went, so Joshua gave command,
It was my business when there to view the promised land.

And soon the king sent after me, all for to take my life,
And a woman did preserve me, that was neither maid nor wife.
‘Twas out of a window, with a scarlet thread let down,
And went straight unto a garden, and there my brethren found.

Now to conclude and finish, keep Joseph in your mind,
Through all your weary travels you left him not behind;
I’m sure he was a man of God, he interpreted the king’s dream.
I wish you all true brethren ever steady to remain.

Ulster My Home

Ulster my home
I’ll leave you never
Ulster my home
Sweeter than ever
Though far I may roam
The bonds never sev’re
Ulster my home
Ulster forever.

Now the steep glens of Antrim
Keep calling to me
The county of Derry
I’m longing to see
The hills of Fermanagh
Armagh and Tyrone
The sweep of the down land
Keeps calling me home.

Ulster my home
I’ll leave you never
Ulster my home
Sweeter than ever
Though far I may roam
The bonds never sev’re
Ulster my home
Ulster forever.

The blue sky above me
The deep rolling sea
The green velvet meadows
The soft blowing breeze
The old village church bells
How sweetly they chime
The rose covered cottage
The wild mountain tyme.

Ulster my home
I’ll leave you never
Ulster my home
Sweeter than ever
Though far I may roam
The bonds never sev’re
Ulster my home
Ulster forever.

Wake, Sons of William, Wake

(Air “La Belle Cathrine”)

Wake, sons of William, wake,
For God the thrones of kings doth shake;
Truth and freedom are at stake,
And dangers lurk around.
Hark! we hear
Sounds of fear,
That startle not the brave man’s ear;
They seem to say
That Papal sway
May through this isle abound.

Wake, Sons of William, wake,
For God the thrones of kings doth shake;
Truth and freedom are at stake,
And dangers lurk around.

Arise, one matchless band,
And, like your fathers, bravely stand,
For God, for Home, and Fatherland,
In all your proud array!
Truth doth shine,
With power divine,
On hearts that are religion’s shrine.
Faith and love
Towered God above
Take earthly cares away.

Wake, Sons of William, wake,
For God the thrones of kings doth shake;
Truth and freedom are at stake,
And dangers lurk around.

See how our rulers now
To Papal arts will bow;
And oh! shall we not vow
To shield our fathers’ fame?
They would bind
Heart and mind;
Soul and body bruise and grind!
And shall we
Such recreants be
As bear the wrong and shame?

Wake, Sons of William, wake,
For God the thrones of kings doth shake;
Truth and freedom are at stake,
And dangers lurk around.

When Nassau to our aid
High wielded Freedom’s blade;
Rome’s hosts were prostrate laid,
By the great warrior King.
And shall we,
Bold and free,
Fear our stricken enemy?
No; for they
Who’d bear Rome’s sway
Shall also feel her sting!

Wake, Sons of William, wake,
For God the thrones of kings doth shake;
Truth and freedom are at stake,
And dangers lurk around.

What doubter still would pause
To maintain our glorious cause?
Now, rise for Church and laws,
And for our gracious Queen!
United, then,
Brave-hearted men,
You’ll win Truth’s victory once again;
And this your ide,
In Heaven’s bright smile,
All glorious shall be seen!

Loughgall

Have you ever been an Orange man on the twelfth day of July,
Have you stood and watched the brethren as proudly they marched by,
Have you heard your masters orders, have you heard your chaplain call,
Put on your Orange sashes boys we’re leaving for Loughgall.

It is a lovely village the finest ever seen,
Surrounded by sweet country side and fields of grasses green,
Our Orange Banners floating outshine the rebels all,
As we proudly march in memory to the village of Loughgall.

We numbered twenty thousand as proudly we march down,
The streets we knew from childhood the streets of Portadown,
We have walked them all from childhood but now we do recall,
This glorious twelfth when we all march to the village of Loughgall.

You have heard of old Dan Winters some 100 years ago,
He formed our lovely order he proudly watched it grow,
He said we’ll stand for Ulster we’ll stand or else we’ll fall,
We’ll shout “No Surrender” when we’re marching through Loughgall.

But he is dead and gone now and I hope in Heaven above,
Up with his great grand master in that great land of love,
But I know that on this glorious twelfth he will surely see us all,
As we proudly march in memory to the village of Loughgall.

I know that far across the sea in a land that’s fair and bright,
Our lovely Queen is watching, for she loves this glorious sight,
She even sent a Telegram God speed unto you all,
You Protestants of Ulster as you’re marching through Loughgall.

Derry's Walls

The time has scarce gone round boys
Two hundred years ago
When rebels on old Derry’s walls
Their faces dare not show
When James and all his rebel band
Came up to Bishop’s Gate
With heart in hand and sword and shield
We caused him to retreat

Then fight and don’t surrender
But come when duty calls
With heart and hand and sword and shield
We’ll guard old Derry ‘s walls

For blood did flow in crimson streams
Full many a winter’s night
They knew the Lord was on their side
To help them in the fight
They nobly stood upon the walls
Determined for to die
To fight and gain the victory
And raise the crimson high

Then fight and don’t surrender
But come when duty calls
With heart and hand and sword and shield
We’ll guard old Derry ‘s walls

At last, at last with one broadside
Kind heaven sent them aid
The boom that crossed the Foyle was broke
And James he was dismayed
The banner, boys, that floated
Was run aloft with joy
God bless the hands that broke the boom
And saved the ‘prentice boys

Then fight and don’t surrender
But come when duty calls
With heart and hand and sword and shield
We’ll guard old Derry ‘s walls

The Relief of Derry

The dreadful days are over, no more the cannons roar,
King James has lost the battle and his flag is seen no more
And here are we renowned and free by maiden walls surrounded —
Poor rebel knaves,
vatican slaves,
Fly from the wrath of the orange and blue.

The Dartmouth spreads her canvas, her purple pennants wave,
We hail the gallant Browning who all our lives did save;
Like Noah’s dove
sent from above
he brought us peace and safety —
Through flood and flame,
our hero came,
Bringing relief for the orange and blue.

The vessel strikes the traitrous boom, does pitch and reel and strand
Our papish foes cry out our doom and OPEN GATES demand;
And shrill and high
we raise the cry
of anguish, grief and pity —
While black with care,
and deep despair,
We do prepare to mourn the orange and blue.

But heaven — sent guide and one broadside the gallant barque rebounds
And favouring gale does fill the sail whilst hill and vale resounds;
The joy-bells ring :
GOD SAVE THE KING,
farewell to grief and sadness —
Poor rebel knaves,
vatican slaves,
Fly from the wrath of the orange and blue.

Sham Fight at Scarva, 13th July

One night as I lay on my bed I thought that I would try
To write a few loyal verses The Thirteenth of July.

In Scarva town, of high renown, That place I hold most dear,
The Grand Sir Knight of Israel’s camp Do meet there once a year.

To the memory of King William All loyal men do join,
To see King James defeated At the Battle of the Boyne.

A Sham Fight there takes place In memory of the day
That we freed from Popery And gained our liberty.

With Bands and Banners marching Through Buller’s fair Demesne,
And loyal sisters join with us, And each year do the same.

Here’s to Sir Knight Sir Norman Stronge That man of high renown,
Long may he lead the Grand Sir Knights Through Scarva’s loyal town.

With the Churches on the hill And the Orange Hall by the lane,
That leads the Grand Procession Through Scarva’s fine Demesne.

Now ye loyal Sons of Scarva, One thousand R.B.P.,
Remember your forefathers That fought for liberty.

You always make us welcome, Let it be wet or dry,
For the great historic Sham Fight On the Thirteenth of July.

May you always still remember, That place of noted fame,
So join with the Grand Sir Knights Through Buller’s fair Demesne.

With Banbridge town and Portadown And Tandragee so fair,
And Newry with their colours bright, Blow proudly in the air.

And Markethill, with a free will, Together with us join
In memory of that day King William crossed the Boyne.

Now I’ll bid farewell to Scarva men, All honour to them due,
To R.B.P. One Thousand, Of Gideon’s Chosen Few.

Now to the Buller family —I cannot pass them by —
The gates are opened wide to them For the Thirteenth of July.

Eighteenth of December

(Tune — “Derry’s Walls”)

Awake, you loyal Orangemen,
Get ready for the battle,
For popish knaves now scheme and plan,
And treason loudly prattle.
Unfurl your good old Orange flag,
Old Derry’s Walls remember,
And tell those cowardly sons of Rome,
You never will surrender.

Then here’s to the brave old ‘Prentice Boys,
Who never will surrender;
Who celebrate their victory gained
On the Eighteenth of December.

When Gladstone rushed his Home Rule Bill,
Devoid of sense or reason,
Backed up by men he once denounced,
As steeped to the lips in treason,
‘Twas then brave Ulster’s sons declared
Their firm determination
To guard the rights their fathers gained,
And have no separation.

Then here’s to the brave old ‘Prentice Boys,
Who never will surrender;
Who celebrate their victory gained
On the Eighteenth of December.

At Derry, Aughrim, and the Boyne,
Our banners waved victorious;
At Enniskillen and Diamond, too,
We chased the foe before us.
And should they dare to rise again,
Pope, traitor or Pretender,
Old Scotland’s sons will man their guns,
With shouts of “No Surrender”.

Then here’s to the brave old ‘Prentice Boys,
Who never will surrender;
Who celebrate their victory gained
On the Eighteenth of December.

The Black Man's Dream, A.D. 1795

One night I thought a vision brough
Me to a spacious plain,
Whereon its centre stood a mount,
Whose top I wished to gain;
Orange, blue, and purple, too,
Were given me to wear,
And for to see the mystery
They did me thus prepare.

My guide a pack placed on my back —
With pillars of an arch —
A staff and scrip placed in my hand,
And thus I on did march;
Through desert lands I travelled o’er
And the narrow road I trod,
Till something did obstruct my path
In the form of a toad.

So then I saw what did me awe,
Though wandering in a dream —
A flaming bush, though unconsumed,
Before me did remain;
And as I stood out of the wood
I heard a heavenly sound,
Which bade me cast my shoes away,
For it was holy ground.

Two men I saw, with weapons keen,
Which did me sore annoy —
Unto a pyramid I ran
That standing was hard by;
And as I climbed the narrow way,
A hand I there did see,
Which layed the lofty mountains
In the scale of equity.

Blue, gold, and black about my neck,
This apparition placed —
Into a chariot I was put,
Where we drove off in haste
Twelve dazzling lights of beauty bright
Were brought to guide my way,
And as we drove thro’ cypress shades
One of them did decay.

Near to a mount I saw a fount
Of living water flow
I being dry, they did reply,
To drink you there may go;
The mystic cup I then took up,
And drank a health to all
That were born free and kept their knee
From bowing unto Baal.

The Shepherd's Boy

“From my earliest days “The Shepherd’s Boy” has been the song which appeals to me most. Long before I joined the Royal Black Institution the Biblical history of David, with all his strengths and a few weaknesses, seemed to convey a special message. It continues to provide inspiring texts for many a sermon, and the lessons are there for laymen too. David’s confrontation with Goliath has a special message for us at the present time. When the Goliaths of wickedness threaten to sweep all before them, we are reminded just how frail is the arm of flesh compared with the power of God.”
Past Sovereign Grand Master (Royal Black Institution) Sir Knight J. H. Molyneaux, ,J.P., M.P.

One night as I lay on my bed, I fell into a dream,
Some rugged paths I thought I trod, till a sheepfold I came;
Down by a brook, with scrip and crook, a youth I did espy.
I asked his name, from whence he came : he said, a Shepherd’s Boy.

The Sheepfold being on a plain, near to a camp it lay,
The lovely lambs around their dams did fondly sport and play;
The fields were green, all things there seen, to me did yield much joy,
But nothing there I could compare to the young Shepherd’s Boy.

He got a pack placed on his back, and a staff in his right hand;
This very day I must obey my father’s just command;
I asked him where he was bound for, he made me a quick reply,
To yonder camp I must repair, although a Shepherd’s Boy.

My brethren I must go and see, they’re fighting for the King,
This very hour their hearts I’ll cheer, glad tidings I’ll them bring;
I asked him how he could get there, or climb yon mount so high,
A mark, said he, was left to me, to guide the Shepherd’s Boy.

When he came into the camp I saw a terrible sight,
Two armies there they did prepare for to renew the fight;
A man six cubits and a span his brethren did defy;
None in that place then dare him face but the young Shepherd’s Boy.

The King says, this Goliath does fill our camp with awe,
Whosoever does this monster kill shall be my son-in-law;
Then I will go and lay him low, the youth he did reply.
Then go, says he, Lord be with thee, my valiant Shepherd’s Boy.

Then out of the brook five stones he took, and placed them in his scrip,
Undauntedly across the plain this gallant youth did trip;
At the first blow he laid him low, cut off his head forbye,
He dropped his sling, and they made a king of the young Shepherd’s Boy.

Now to conclude and finish this wondrous dream of mine,
There’s none but he who is born free shall ever know the sign;
So fill your glass, round let it pass, for I am getting dry,
And toast with me to the memory of the young Shepherd’s Boy.

Waringsford Rising Star L.O.L. No. 545

Composed by Bro. Private W. H. Wallace (Jun.) who was hilled in action in France at Hill 60, May 10th 1915

Come all you Orange Brethren, now listen and I’ll sing,
In honour of those heroes, who are loyal to their King;
They love their rights and liberties, they gained them by the sword.
And the place those heroes hail from is known as Waringsford.

Although it is a village small in the West of County Down,
In the Parish of Garvaghy, three miles from Dromore Town —
Our Orange standard’s planted there, the cause we will maintain,
Within our lovely Orange Hall in Waringsford Demesne.

I’m proud to be a member of that famous L.O.L.,
And 545’s our number — that we all love so well;
We meet first Thursday of each month — we’re known both near and far —
And the title we go under is the Waringsford Rising Star.

On every night of meeting, with our Master in the chair,
The Lodge is always opened with scripture and with prayer,
The Brethren standing round most cordially do join
In praising God who sent us King William to the Boyne.

And on the twelfth day of July, when we march out so gay,
With our banners floating proudly on that historic day;
We make the lords of all the land come out and join the throng,
And celebrate that glorious day — when right triumphed o’er wrong.

Ye noble sons of Ulster, be ready for the call,
To guard those rights and liberties we won on Derry’s Walls;
Then raise your “No Surrender” cry — let it ring both loud and clear —
For as long as God is on our side no danger need we fear.

But keep King William’s memory, our glorious Prince of yore,
Till the Archangel’s trumpet sounds and time shall be no more;
And wear the Bible and the Crown, the Orange and the Blue,
For it was for these colours that King James’ men we slew.

And when we pass through darkness to that bright heavenly land,
To meet our Great Grand Master, and there before Him stand;
‘To dwell forever with the Lord, and His praises there to sing,
Along with our ancestors and William our great King.

King William III

(Tune — “When the Kye came hame”)

Wherefore is the name of William
Such a watchword to the free?
Why do we still prize and honour
His immortal memory?
Not because he was a hero,
Nor a statesman, nor a king;
But because the truth he honour’d
More than every other thing.

Not because he was the leader
Of our fathers in the field,
Nor because to kingly traitors,
He, more kingly, would not yield;
But because for truth he battled,
And because for truth he bled,
And because for truth he conquered,
With the heroes he had led.

Therefore was the Prince of Orange,
Honoured and beloved by those
Who defied Rome’s usurpation,
And became her mightiest foes.
Therefore is his memory
“Pious, Glorious, and Immortal” too;
Would that all Great Britain’s Rulers,
To the truth, like him, were true!

True Loyal Protestants

Ye true loyal Protestants, sons of Great Britain,
And likewise of Erin, on you I now call,
Pray give your attention to that which is written,
In records of truth, about Babylon’s fall.
In scripture we read it, how heav’n decreed it,
That proud Papal Rome would be soon over-thrown;
And antichrist’s legion in Tophet’s hot region
By suff’ring and torture their fate would bemoan.

By loyal allegiance, and loving obedience,
Still show yourselves valiant, and cordially join
Your foes to subdue, by the Orange and Blue,
Rememb ‘ring your fathers who fought at the Boyne.

The day is now come when the minions of Rome
Are slaying each other, like Midian of old;
Whilst Gaul, like proud Ammon, is now serving Mammon,
And Austria are slaughter’d like Seir, we are told.
But heav’n’s red vengeance, like torturing engines,
Is working to slay them by special command;
And Infidel nations of Popish creations,
With famine and sword will be swept from the land.

By loyal allegiance, and loving obedience,
Still show yourselves valiant, and cordially join
Your foes to subdue, by the Orange and Blue,
Rememb ‘ring your fathers who fought at the Boyne.

While Britain, still neutral, maintains her opinions,
And joins not the ranks of a despotic power,
Kind heav’n will smile on her friendly dominions,
Nor will the destroyer her armies devour.
God has it in store for old England once more,
That she’ll be the nurse of the free and the brave;
It is so allotted, she’ll ne’er be permitted
To rivet the chains of the captive and slave.

By loyal allegiance, and loving obedience,
Still show yourselves valiant, and cordially join
Your foes to subdue, by the Orange and Blue,
Rememb ‘ring your fathers who fought at the Boyne.

‘Tis true that her statesmen may still have their foibles,
And, blinded with prejudice, may go astray;
But Britain’s the land that distributes the Bibles,
And tolerates clergy to point out the way.
But would she, forsooth, take the grant from Maynooth,
That grant which engenders a curse on her sons,
That God would caress her, and trebly would bless her,
And fight all her battles without swords and guns.

By loyal allegiance, and loving obedience,
Still show yourselves valiant, and cordially join
Your foes to subdue, by the Orange and Blue,
Rememb ‘ring your fathers who fought at the Boyne.

So fill up your bumpers, and toast the glad hour,
When Papal dominion will soon be pulled down;
When vile usurpation, and antichrist’s power,
Will soon have to yield to the Bible and Crown.
Long, long may Victoria, our Queen, reign amongst us,
And long may she govern the state of her throne;
While heaven defends her no nation can wrong us,
Nor will we her cause and the Bible disown.

By loyal allegiance, and loving obedience,
Still show yourselves valiant, and cordially join
Your foes to subdue, by the Orange and Blue,
Rememb ‘ring your fathers who fought at the Boyne.

The Purple Boy

When first the purple t’was given to man
‘Twas on King Solomon’s high temple throne
When first the purple ‘twas given to man
‘Twas on King Solomon’s high temple throne.
La Lee Fol Lot Fol Lot La Lee

“Now come tell me darling, come tell me joy,
Come tell to me my true purple boy
What are those secrets you love so sweet?”
“I’m afraid those secrets, them I must keep.”

When first the purple t’was given to man
‘Twas on King Solomon’s high temple throne
When first the purple ‘twas given to man
‘Twas on King Solomon’s high temple throne.
La Lee Fol Lot Fol Lot La Lee

Some love the mark, some love the blue,
But I would die for the scarlet too.
Those ribbon rascals I would defy
And I’d wear the colours till the day I die.

When first the purple t’was given to man
‘Twas on King Solomon’s high temple throne
When first the purple ‘twas given to man
‘Twas on King Solomon’s high temple throne.
La Lee Fol Lot Fol Lot La Lee

Now I wish I wish I were a man,
That I could join in your orange band
Then all my sorrows would turn to joy
"Twould be rolling in the arms of my purple boy.

When first the purple t’was given to man
‘Twas on King Solomon’s high temple throne
When first the purple ‘twas given to man
‘Twas on King Solomon’s high temple throne.
La Lee Fol Lot Fol Lot La Lee

Now come all young girls that choose a man,
Choose the purple boy, that’s if you can.
For they’re the ones that will love you best,
For they wear the mark on their left breast.

When first the purple t’was given to man
‘Twas on King Solomon’s high temple throne
When first the purple ‘twas given to man
‘Twas on King Solomon’s high temple throne.
La Lee Fol Lot Fol Lot La Lee

King William's Day

The glorious days of Aughrim’s field —
The day of chivalry
We’ll ne’er forget, when helm and shield
Were bless’d with victory!
Like wildfire flashed our engines, then
Red havoc spread dismay;
Up, rouse ye, then, my merry Orangemen,
It is King William’s day!
To blast the torch of Liberty,
Which our brave sires once fired,
False James — the slave of bigotry —
With Papist foes conspired
But history’s page tells where and when
We made them run away;
Up, rouse ye, then, my merry Orangemen,
It is King William’s day!

Another Boyne may have its fray;
Another Aughrim rise;
Another Londonderry may Shew where its martyr lies.
And should such scenes blaze forth again —
Stand close upon that day;
Up, rouse ye, then, my merry Orangemen,
It is King William’s day!

No Surrender

Behold the crimson banners float,
O’er yonder turfret hoary.
It tells of days of mighty note,
And Derry’s deathless glory,
When her brave Sons undaunted stood,
Embattled to defend her
Indignant stemmed oppression’s flood
And sang out “No surrender”.

Then here’s to the boys that fear no noise,
And never will surrender.
The gates we’ll close against her foes,
On the eighteenth of December.

Old Derry’s walls were firm and strong,
Well fenced in ev’ry quarter.
Each frowning bastion grim along,
With culverin and mortar.
But Derry had a surer guard
Than all that art could lend her.
Her ‘prentice hearts the gates who barred
And sang out “No surrender”.

Then here’s to the boys that fear no noise,
And never will surrender.
The gates we’ll close against her foes,
On the eighteenth of December.

On came the foe in bigot ire,
And fierce assault was given.
By shot and shell, mid stream of fire,
Her fatal roofs were riven.
But baffled was the tyrant’s wrath,
And vain his hope to bend her.
For still ‘mid famine, fire and death
She rang out “No surrender”.

Then here’s to the boys that fear no noise,
And never will surrender.
The gates we’ll close against her foes,
On the eighteenth of December.

Again, when treason maddened round,
And rebel hordes were swarming,
Were Derry’s sons the foremost found
For king and country arming.
And forth they rushed at honour’s call,
From age to boyhood tender.
Again to man there virgin wall,
And sang out “No surrender”.

Then here’s to the boys that fear no noise,
And never will surrender.
The gates we’ll close against her foes,
On the eighteenth of December.

Long may the crimson banner wave,
A meteor streaming airy.
Portentous of the free and brave,
Who manned the walls of Deny.
And Derry’s Sons alike defy Pope,
traitor or pretender,
And ring to heaven their ‘prentice cry
Their patriot “No surrender”.

Then here’s to the boys that fear no noise,
And never will surrender.
The gates we’ll close against her foes,
On the eighteenth of December.

The Marksman

Come all ye young fellows and marksmen also,
Give ear to this ditty concerning my woe,
Till you hear what befell me in the year ‘45 —
A lesson I learned, boys, I’ll mind while alive.

I’d been a young fellow, and stout, roving blade,
When I first fell in love with this charming young maid;
Her cheeks red as roses decked with morning dew,
And the colours she wore, boys, were Orange and Blue.

To this charming young creature I made myself known,
I asked her the way which led to her home;
She told me her index it came from above,
And the whole of her courtship was garnished with love.

For her loving brethren I then did inquire,
To find out her tribe ‘twas my chiefest desire;
She told me by five and by seven also,
But the two-and-a-half she would never let go.

To my great astonishment some curtain she drew,
They being entwined with the Purple and Blue;
Two cubits and a half long, likewise the same broad,
The pot that held manna, likewise Aaron’s rod.

She showed me a ladder by which I could go
All over the mountains and far beyond woe;
Some numbering seven steps, but the three would do me —
If you want to know the secret, go search and you’ll see.

To this lovely young creature I made a low bow,
I kissed her and caressed her, but I won’t tell you how;
She gave me a love-token, which I wear in my breast,
And that I’ll remember till I go to my rest.

So come all you young fellows, I wish you good cheer!
You can bring in your sweethearts and set them down here,
You can kiss them and court them and treat them quite free,
But see if yours tells you what my love told me.

The Orangman's Friend

O! I have been in Lodges grand, Many Orange friends I’ve met,
Not one fair scene or kindly smile, Can Orange hearts forget;
Yet I confess I am content, No, never will I roam — Oh,
steer not then from Orange truths, Under Popery to groan.

In Orange hearts there’s right good cheer, And bosoms pure as snow —
In Orange hearts their truths are dear, Right well do Papists know;
In Orange truths my time I pass, No, never will I roam —
Oh, steer not then from Orange truths, Under Popery to groan.

England is my place of birth. God bless her enlighten’d shore —
O’er Popish isles their truths have spread, Which Papist burnt and tore;
But pleasant days with friends I pass, God grant me ne’er to roam
But to the house of truth to steer, Where Popery meets its doom.

Orangemen may traverse the polar zone, And boldly claim his right,
For his flag it has so widely spread, That the sun ne’er sets on his might;
Let the haughty Orangemen see and know The place of his home and birth;
And the flush will spread from cheek to brow As he boasts of his enlighten’d earth.
‘Tis a glorious order, deny it who can,
That breathes in the word — “I’m an Orangeman!”

The Royal South Down Militia

Composed by Bro. Colonel R. H. Wallace, C.B., D.L.

I belong to a noble regiment, whose deeds are often told,
For on the field of battle they are always brave and bold;
They’ve ioyal hearts as well, as true as any steel,
And the place they show their bravery is on the battlefield.

For ye talk about your King’s Guards, Scots Greys, and a
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of eu’ry other regiment under the King’s command,
But the South Down mileeshy is the terror of the land.

Och, boys, but it was grand when we in action first did join,
Along with noble William at the Battle of the Boyne.
Says King James, “I’ll take the first train home, ‘tis more than I can stand,
For them South Down Mileeshy is the terror of the land.”

For ye talk about your King’s Guards, Scots Greys, and a
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of eu’ry other regiment under the King’s command,
But the South Down mileeshy is the terror of the land.

And when we were at Salisbury, in the year of Sev’nty-two,
The Queen of Spain and Duke was there to see the grand review;
“Och bloody wars”, the Queen remarked, and waved her lily hand,
“Them South Down Mileeshy is the terror of the land.”

For ye talk about your King’s Guards, Scots Greys, and a
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of eu’ry other regiment under the King’s command,
But the South Down mileeshy is the terror of the land.

Now, there’s French, and Turks, and Prooshians, and brave Italians too,
There’s Greeks and Ancient Romans, not forgetting the Zulu;
But from Greenland’s icy mountains to Injy’s coral strand,
Och, the South Down Mileeshy is the terror of the land.

For ye talk about your King’s Guards, Scots Greys, and a
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of eu’ry other regiment under the King’s command,
But the South Down mileeshy is the terror of the land.

Now at the Jubilee the Irish Rifles marched by;
Her Majesty observed them with a keen and martial eye.
“Och Major Wallace”, says the Queen, “Them boys of yours looks grand.”
“Och hould your tongue”, says Wolseley, “Thim’s the terror of the land.”

For ye talk about your King’s Guards, Scots Greys, and a
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of eu’ry other regiment under the King’s command,
But the South Down mileeshy is the terror of the land.

When Kruger heard the regiment was landed at Capetown,
“De Wet”, says he, “we’re bate.” Says he “They’ve sent out the South Downs.”
Says De Wet, “If that’s a fact, me son, we’d better quit the Rand,
For them South Down Militia is the terror of the land.”

For ye talk about your King’s Guards, Scots Greys, and a
Ye may sing about your kilties and the bonny Forty-Twa,
And of eu’ry other regiment under the King’s command,
But the South Down mileeshy is the terror of the land.

The Victory of The Boyne

(Air “The Standard Bearer”)

High hearts were gather’d to a mortal fight,
Upon the banks of Erin’s famous river;
One army battling only for the right,
The other to bind chains on us for ever
Chains that our fathers nobly scorn’d to wear,
And so they cross’d the Boyne, Great William leading
Soon was King James o’erwhelmed with despair,
And William on to victory proceeding.

Then flow’d the river calmly as before,
Tho’ deeply crimson’d with the recent slaughter;
And none but slaves or tyrants could deplore,
That glorious William crossed the Boyne Water;
For there the kingly chief and warrior strove,
To shield our fathers from a yoke oppressing,
And save for them all that their hearts could love,
The rights and liberties we’re now possessing.

It was a victory which placed the throne;
Beyond the reach of tyrants or pretenders;
Bright were the laurels on their brows which shone,
Who were in this great strife the faith’s defenders;
Who, wishing to their fellow-men no ill,
Still freedom lov’d, and earnestly they sought her;
Duty’s high task they all dar’d to fulfil,
And won, like heroes, at the Boyne Water.

And since that battle crush’d the Popish sway,
Brought glory, peace, and freedom to the nation,
We will, no matter what pale bigots say,
Still hold the day in glad commemoration.
Here’s to the memory of the Orange Prince!
The ‘Prentice Boys who Derry’s Walls defended;
And all the good, and tried, and brave men since,
Who for the faith and freedom have contended!

The Boys of Sandy Row

Come all ye loyal Orangemen and in full chorus join,
Think on the deeds of William and his conquest at the Boyne,
And gratefully commemorate that ever glorious day
That crown’d the mighty hero King and ended Popish sway.

Then band together firmly and popery overthrow
Like to your gallant brethren the Boys of Sandy Row.

Likewise yeze Presbyterians that for the truth contend
Come forward now and manfully your chartered rights defend
From Fenians and from Paypishes that fiercely youse assail
And hope throughout Green Erin’s Isle to carry a repeal.

Then band together firmly and popery overthrow
Like to your gallant brethren the Boys of Sandy Row.

Th’ intriguing Paypishes surround this loyal and ancient town
They tried you know not long ago to pull the Bible down
And to destroy it root and branch they often have combined
But from Sandy Row we made them fly like chaff before the wind.

Then band together firmly and popery overthrow
Like to your gallant brethren the Boys of Sandy Row.

To brave and gallant Johnston who’d always do and dare
Now let a bumper toast go round with honours from the chair
The Boyne we never will forget nor Derry Walls renowned
And should like days again return we’ll at our posts be found.

Then band together firmly and popery overthrow
Like to your gallant brethren the Boys of Sandy Row.

The Ride on the Goat

(Tune — “Derry Down”)

On the Twelfth of July, in the year ‘89,
I first took the notion this Order to join;
Then up to the lodgeroom, and there I did go,
And what I got there you’ll very soon know.

Down, Down, Derry Down!

And when I arrived there I knocked at the door;
There’s one they call master, who stood on the floor;
Come in and sit down, you’re welcome, he said,
And being surprised, I on him did gaze.

Down, Down, Derry Down!

Then up came a man with a mallet in his hand,
Saying, don’t be alarmed, for I’ll do you no harm.
Five hundred miles on a goat you must ride,
A homey or moiley, the master replied.

Down, Down, Derry Down!

Then the goat was brought forward that I might get on,
And after I mounted they bid him begone;
Through a blind window the goat he did go,
Through bogs and wild mountains, and where I don’t know.

Down, Down, Derry Down!

Then after a long and wearisome chase,
The goat he arrived at the very same place;
Approaching the lodgeroom, I heard them all sing,
Success to the member that made the house ring.

Down, Down, Derry Down!

Orange and Blue

When brethren are met in their orders so grand,
What a beautiful sight for to view.
I was ordered to stand, by a brother’s command,
To receive the bright Orange and Blue.
To receive etc.

In darkness I entered, the Lord He knows where,
First bound me in chains it is true;
My shoes from my feet I did then cast away,
To receive the bright Orange and Blue.

A rumbling noise just like thunder I heard,
Presented itself to my view,
You would stand with amazement to see them proclaim,
To receive the bright Orange and Blue.

A glittering light unto me was revealed,
I became a fresh soul, quite anew;
I’ll stand by my cause, my religion, and laws,
I’ll die by the Orange and Blue.

What a shameful disgrace on a lodge it doth bring,
To see brethren each other subdue;
When hatred and envy profession pursue,
Then they fly from the Orange and Blue.

Let us join heart and hand, and like William stand,
In defending a cause just and true;
Let the Boyne be our guide, as our forefathers died
In defence of the Orange and Blue.

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King William Forever

(Air — “Macgregor’s Gathering”)

On the Twelfth of July, at the Battle of the Boyne,
King William he fought, and gained great renown;
He defeated King James, and his Papists he slew,
For they never could stand before Orange and Blue.

Then steady, Orangemen, steady, steady;
Steady, Orangemen, steady, steady;
Die we can do, boys, yield we can never;
Let the toast be, “Our Order and King William for ever.”

Then here’s to County Antrim and brave Donegal,
And the ‘Prentice Boys of Derry, who saved them from all;
And brave Enniskillen and Armagh so true,
For their sons all rejoice in the Orange and Blue.

Then steady, Orangemen, steady, steady;
Steady, Orangemen, steady, steady;
Die we can do, boys, yield we can never;
Let the toast be, “Our Order and King William for ever.”

And here’s to King William of glorious fame,
And the Protestant Boys who rejoice in his name;
And here’s to the lodges of Orange and Blue,
For they are the boys that are loyal and true.

Then steady, Orangemen, steady, steady;
Steady, Orangemen, steady, steady;
Die we can do, boys, yield we can never;
Let the toast be, “Our Order and King William for ever.”

The Orangemen of Ireland

(Tune “The Old Orange Tree”)

When Satan sat in Parliament, the Popish Bill to pass,
He laid a snare to force us all to worship him at mass;
The religion of the Bible to abandon and disown,
And bow, like Indian savages, before his gloomy throne.
The Orangemen of Ireland to meet him were not there
To snaffle him, to baffle him, and break his wily snare.

When Satan’s own defenders raised their heads in ninety-five,
‘Tis true of them, but few of them can now be found alive,
When they struck the weak and timorous with terror and affright,
And traversed all the provinces in multitudes by night.
The Orangemen of Ireland then started to their post,
Confronted them, and hunted them, until the cause was lost.

When Sampson, and when Emmet, in the days of ninety-eight,
Had plotted a rebellion to destroy the Church and State;
When the rebels they had organised, with muskets took the field,
To make the Lord Lieutenant and legislators yield,
The Orangemen of Ireland, unaided and alone,
Undaunted stood, and shed their blood, and conquered for the throne.

Though watching for calamity on Britain’s happy land,
To massacre the Protestants in readiness they stand;
Though their Demagogues have told us that the night we ought to watch,
When the murderer shall raise his hand to lift our bedroom latch;
The Orangemen of Ireland, all steady to the Crown,
May rise again with might and main, and put the reptiles down.

The Orange Gathering Song

by Rev. Mr. Innis
(Air — “The British Grenadiers”)

From every hill and valley,
From every strath and glen,
Ho! rally Northmen and rally,
Display your strength again.
Come, all ye that are true yet,
Come gather quick and fast,
Hurrah! ye can renew yet
The glories of the past.
Rear, rear the flag!
Strike, strike the drum!
In proud procession join.
Let cowards quail,
while freemen hail,
The Battle of the Boyne.

‘Tis now no time for dreaming,
No time to take repose,
When traitor men are scheming
To sell you to your foes;
Aye, truth and honour scorning,
Your freedom they would blast,
But read to them this warning,
The memory of the past.
And rear the flag,
and strike the drum,
In proud procession join.
Let traitors quail,
while true men hail,
The Battle of the Boyne.

Fermanagh! ever ready,
The warder of our land,
And Cavan, tried and steady,
Send forth your loyal band;
And Monaghan, stout-hearted,
In danger never last.
Up! show ‘tis not departed,
The spirit of the past.
And rear the flag
and strike the drum!
In proud procession join.
Foemen! give place,
ye know our race
—The victors of the Boyne.

From fair Tirowen’s border,
All round to Donegal,
Come, ranking out in order —
Come gather one and all;
Ho! Derrymen! awaken,
Abroad your banner cast,
E’en now the day is breaking,
The weary night is past.
Ho! rear the flag!
ho! strike the drum,
In proud procession join;
So freemen ought,
whose fathers fought,
And conquered at the Boyne.

Armagh the call is sounding,
Send out thy every man.
Thy true hearts, Down,
are bounding, From
Strangford to the Bairn;
Antrim — aye, thou’rt true yet,
Rank out thy legion vast,
Alone thou couldst renew yet,
The glories of the past.
With flaunting flag
and rolling drum,
In proud procession join.
No rabble ye, but yoemen free,
Like those who crossed the Boyne.

Fling out our glorious banner
Make music’s merry chime;
Let Northern breezes fan her,
As in the olden time.
And trust in God on high, boys,
Be faithful to the last.
The future will outvie, boys,
The glories of the past.
Rear, rear the flag!
Strike, strike the drum!
In proud procession join,
Hurrah, hurrah, we hail this day,
The Battle of the Boyne.

Contents

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Latest Content
Welcome
Our Staff
Acknowledgements
Help Us
Queen's Ulster Society


Songbook

The Black Man's Dream, A.D. 1795
The Blackman's Making Song
The Boys of Sandy Row

Derry's Walls

Eighteenth of December

Fields of Ulster

The Green Grassy Slopes
God Save The Queen

Hands Across The Water

King William's Day
King William Forever
King William III

Londonderry On The Foyle
Loughgall
Loyal Heart

The Marksman

No Surrender

Orange and Blue
The Orange Gathering Song
The Orangman's Friend
The Orangemen of Ireland
The Ould Orange Flute

The Purple Boy

The Relief of Derry
The Ride on the Goat
The Royal South Down Militia

Sandy Row
Sham Fight at Scarva, 13th July

The Shepherd's Boy

True Loyal Protestants

Ulster My Home
Ulster Won't Die

The Victory of The Boyne

Wake, Sons of William, Wake
Waringsford Rising Star L.O.L. No. 545
We Soldiers of York