God Save The Queen

God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen:
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us:
God save the Queen.

O Lord, our God, arise,
Scatter her enemies,
And make them fall.
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
On Thee our hopes we fix,
God save us all.

Thy choicest gifts in store,
On her be pleased to pour;
Long may she reign:
May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing with heart and voice
God save the Queen.

Not in this land alone,
But be God's mercies known,
From shore to shore!
Lord make the nations see,
That men should brothers be,
And form one family,
The wide world o'er.

From every latent foe,
From the assassins blow,
God save the Queen!
O'er her thine arm extend,
For Britain's sake defend,
Our mother, prince, and friend,
God save the Queen!

Lord grant that Marshal Wade
May by thy mighty aid
Victory bring.
May he sedition hush,
And like a torrent rush,
Rebellious Scots to crush.
God save the Queen!

'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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

We Soldiers of York

(Tune – “Croppies Lie Down)

We soldiers of York,
So proud of that name,
We wear the white rose
With pride and with fame

We’ll fight all the Frenchmen
And trounce em in gore
As our forefathers did
In the old days of yore

For King and for country
We’ll raise up our toast
And drink the defeat
Of the whole rebel hoste

Down down, Frenchies lie down

Our white rose is lovely,
It’s petals so pure
It flowers neath the sun
Of our Hannovers sure

Our stem is it is strong
But beware of our thorn
Lest by it sharp edge
Rebel flesh should be torn

Our loyalty’s strong and
Our staunch hearts obey
The call of the nation
The battle to sway

Down, down rebels lie down.