The Marseillaise

Ye sons of France, awake to glory!

Hark, hark! what myriads bid you rise!

Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary:

Behold their tears and hear their cries,

Shall hateful tyrants mischief breeding

With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,

Affright and desolate the land,

While peace and liberty be bleeding!

To arms, to arms, ye brave!

The avenging sword unsheathe!

March on, march on, all hearts resolved

On victory or death.

Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,

Which treacherous kings confederate raise;

The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,

And lo! our fields and cities blaze;

And shall we basely view the ruin,

While lawless force, with guilty stride,

Spreads desolation far and wide,

With crimes and blood their hands imbruing?

To arms, to arms, ye brave!

The avenging sword unsheathe!

March on, march on, all hearts resolved

On victory or death.

With luxury and pride surrounded,

The vile, insatiate despots dare,

Their thirst for gold and power unbounded,

To meet and rend the light and air.

Like beasts of burden would they load us,

Like gods, would bid their slaves adore;

But man is man, and who is more?

Then shall they longer lash and goad us?

To arms, to arms, ye brave!

The avenging sword unsheathe!

March on, march on, all hearts resolved

On victory or death.

Oh, Liberty! can man resign thee,

Once having felt the gen'rous flame?

Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee?

Or whips thy noble spirit tame?

Too long the world has wept bewailing

That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield;

But freedom is our sword and shield,

And all their arts are unavailing.

To arms, to arms, ye brave!

The avenging sword unsheathe!

March on, march on, all hearts resolved

On victory or death.