Do you think, you slaves of a thousand years to poverty, wealth and pride, 
You can crush the spirit that has been free in a land that's new and wide? 
When you've scattered the last of the farmer bands, and the war for a while is over, 
You will hold the land ? ay, you'll hold the land ? the land that your rifles cover. 

Till your gold has levelled each mountain range where a wounded man can hide, 
Till your gold has lighted the moonless night on the plains where the rebels ride; 
Till the future is proved, and the past is bribed from the son of the land's dead lover ? 
You may hold the land ? you may hold the land just as far as your rifles cover.