Oh! the Songs of the People are voices of power
That echo in many a land;
They lighten the heart in the sorrowful hour,
And quicken the labour of hand;
They gladden the shepherd on mountain and plain,
And the mariner tossed on the sea:
The poets have given us many a strain,
But the Songs of the People for me.

The artisan, wending full early to toil,
Sings a snatch of old song by the way;
The ploughman, who sturdily furrows the soil,
Cheers the morn with the words of his lay;
The man at the stithy, the maid at the wheel,
The mother with babe on her knee,
Chant simple old rhymes, which they tenderly feel;—
Oh! the Songs of the People for me.

An anthem of triumph, a ditty of love,
A carol 'gainst sorrow and care,
A hymn of the household that rises above,
In the music of hope or despair;
A strain patriotic that wakens the soul
To all that is noble and free;
These lyrics o'er men have a stirring control;—
Oh! the Songs of the People for me.