Crescite et Mutliplicamini.
"We Sleep, But We Are Not Dead" (1862)
A Patriotic Song
by
James R[yder]. Randall. [1839-1908]
Author of "Maryland, my Maryland."

Baltimore, MD: GEORGE WILLIG
Plate No. 2801
[Source: 094/169@Levy]

1. By blue Patapsco’s billowy dash.
  The tyrant’s war shout comes,
Along with cymbals’ fitful clash,
  And the growl of his sullen drums;
We hear it, we heed it with vengeful thrill,
  And we shall not forgive or forget—
There’s faith in the streams, there’s hope in the hills,
  There’s life in the Old Land yet!

CHORUS [sung after each VERSE]
Minions! we sleep, but we are not dead;
We are crush’d, we are scourged, we are scarred;
We crouch, ’tis to welcome the triumph tread
Of the peerless Beauregard.

2. Millions! we sleep, but are not dead;
  We’re crush’d, we’re scourg’d, we are scarred.
We crouch, ’tis to welcome the triumph tread,
  Of the peerless Beauregard;
Then woe to your vile polluting hordes,
  When the Southern braves are met—
There’s faith in the victor’s stainless sword,
  There’s life in the Old Land yet!

3. Bigots! ye quell not the valiant mind
  With the clank of an iron chain—
The Spirit of Freedom sings in the wind
  O’er Merryman, Thomas and Kane;
And we, though we smite not, are not thralls—
  We are piling a gory debt,
While down by McHenry’s dungeon walls,
  There’s life in the Old Land yet! 

4. Our women have hung their harps away,
  And they scowl on your brutal bands,
While the nimble poignard dares the day,
  In their dear, defiant hands;
They’ll strip their tresses to string our bows,
  Ere the Northern sun is set.
There’s faith in their unrelenting woes—
  There’s life in the Old Land yet!

5. There’s life, though it throbbeth in silent veins;
  ’Tis vocal without noise;
It gushed o’er Manasses’ solemn plains
  From the blood of the Maryland boys.
That blood shall cry aloud and rise
   With an everlasting threat:
By the death of the brave, by the God in the skies,
  There’s life in the Old Land yet!