Hail! Hail! to Lochiel; and to Lovat, all hail!
Brave Chiefs of the mountains who muster the Gael;
We thrill with delight at the tidings we hear,
And send ye our greetings this fateful New Year.

From mountain and corrie, from clachan and dale,
The summons speed forth on the wings of the gale;
'Come forward! brave heroes! from Lewis and Skye,
The Clans are to gather, to conquer or die!'

They spring from the heather, the broom and the wood,
And come with a rush like a gathering flood;
They come from Iona, from Mull and Tiree,
And other fair Islands far over the sea.

At call of the Empire they spring from the heath,
And Caledon's sabre is drawn from its sheath,
By Ronalds and Donalds and Grants of Strathspey,
And th' hardy Clan Murray, the first in the fray.

The Stewarts of Appin, Mackinnons of Strath,
MacDougalls of Lorn and the Gordons in wrath;
MacLeans and MacCluskays, and Robertsons too,
All shoulder to shoulder in bonnets of blue.

MacKenzies and Menzies, MacPherson and Graham,
And young Rob MacGregor of terrible fame,
And men from Glenbogle who never were beat
At tossing the caber or cutting the peat.

From Canada's Prairie will rush to the field,
The cubs of the Lion that never shall yield;
From India and New Zealand - Australia too,
Shall muster our heroes to die or to do!

They come from the West, and they come from the East,
They come from the South and the Isle of the mist;
Like the waves of the sea, they shall come ever more,
Till the heart of the despot is thrust to the core.

'The Scarborough babies' - we heard their death-cry -
It pleadeth in heaven forever on high;
It pleads not in vain, for the God of all grace
Shall see that the Cowards are doomed to disgrace.

The cries of the Mothers of Belgium hath come;
The cries of their orphans have stricken us dumb;
The outrage and rapine of burning Louvain
Hath pierced in the bosom the God-hood again!

And Chivalry flies from the infamous Hun,
And liberty bleeds at the sound of his gun;
And Freedom and Justice are crushed in the dust
By bloodhounds of slaughter, and Hellhounds of lust.

Shall we 'stand at ease,' and not rush to the fray,
While the blood of the weak is tramped in the clay?
While the slimy 'Medusa' of heinous crime
Is singing her deeds in perfidious rhyme?

Great God of all wisdom! Why slumber'd on high
The fire-bolts of heaven in folds of the sky?
Why slumber'd the earthquake and white lave stream,
While imps of perdition all bloody and grim -

Have brooded for years Thy fair image to slay
And lying and spying hath longed for 'The Day?'
We cannot say why! 'Tis beyond human ken
To fathom the ways of such devilish men.

The millwheels of heaven grind slowly but sure,
To purge all the wicked of all that's impure;
While 'Right must prevail' we shall win in the fray,
The God of our fathers our hope and our stay.

Britannia! Stand! till they reel at the shock,
As wavelets recoil from the face of a rock;
They charge them apace with the sharp piercing steel,
And shatter their forces from nape to the heel.

And give to Lochiel and Lord Lovat the van,
With their pipers in front, and marshalled each Clan!
For the sake of our fathers who won Waterloo!
All kilted and plaided, so gallant and true!

They rush like a strong irresistible flood,
Which cleaveth in pieces the deep-rooted wood;
Lay heavy thy strokes, like the fast-falling rain:
Sweep forth like a whirlwind o'erwhelming the plain!

The shades of our fathers shall mount up on high
From the waves of the sea they will soar to the sky
Exalting and shouting o'er ocean and land -
'United we conquer! United we stand!'