I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
That into rags would rend ye,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
What an' if the body's cold,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
In the Book of Moons, defend ye.
Wandering through the ways of air,
O harp and altar, of the fury fused,
Wise with great wisdom, I shall lay it down upon flowers.
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
That into rags would rend ye,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
What an' if the body's cold,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
In the Book of Moons, defend ye.
Wandering through the ways of air,
O harp and altar, of the fury fused,
Wise with great wisdom, I shall lay it down upon flowers.