John Bull looked haggard and drear With fear, As the bells rang out the old year, “Oh, dear!” He moaned, “but my lot has been sorry and sore, I ne’er had twelve months of such trouble before, My neighbors all round seem to thirst for my gore,-- It’s queer.
“With Hans I would like to agree, For he Is an inch or two taller than me, You see; But he’s gone to the Cape with a rush and a shout, And I had to vanish or he’d kick me out, And he says ever since he will ‘pull mine snout Mit glee.’
“Then Mossoo, who lives o’er the way Is gay At my numerous signs of decay Each day; He snaps his fingers right under my nose, Laughs at my protests and treads on my toes, And has not a pitying word for my woes To say.
“I once could warn Ivan the bear-- Take care How the lion you stir in his lair, Beware! But now he has laid his big claws on Herat, And all I can do is to squeal like a cat, And I fear that some day I’ll be squelched like a rat Out there.
“But my worst and my ugliest fright, A sight That keeps me in shivering plight All night, Is the vengeance I earned from poor Pat long ago, He’s my nearest neighbor but bitterest foe, And ’tis only just now I’m beginning to know His might!
“So for me there’s no Happy New Year, Oh, dear! But doubt, and misgiving, and fear Are here. My neighbors discover I’m toothless and blind, They cuff me before and they kick me behind, And in all the world not a friend can I find To cheer!”
Ready, boys, ready, the morning is breaking, Brace up your sinews and stand to your guns; Ireland, the shackles of centuries shaking, Calls o’er the ocean for aid to her sons. Now, boys, forever Erin’s endeavor Reaches its triumph or falls on its bier; Strengthen each soul, be it death-bed or goal, You must decide in the dawning new year.
Steady, boys, steady, no pausing or flinching, Comrade or foeman?--your choice must be made; Saxon and Celt in a death-grapple clinching, Neither has room for a neutral brigade. Voices that palter, hearts that may falter, There is no welcome or place for you here; Arms but of you men--fearless and true men-- Strike the last blow in the coming new year.
Ready, boys, ready, with quick self-reliance, Victory marches, but never despair; Steady, boys, steady, a loud-mouthed defiance Never scared tiger or wolf from its lair. Silent, but ready, anxious but steady, Lean on your arms till the signal you hear, Then, be your story sadness or glory, Still, ’twill illumine your country’s new year.