O Harkin

O Harkin

 

 O Harkin my fellow friends and comrades upon the fields of time. The trumpet calls thee, the beat of the might drum.  O Harkin the swords of my ancestors, bones of the mighty that have fallen. O Harkin to the voice, for the battle rages on, upon the fields on high. Raise thy flag,  for victory, Rise thy Flag to follow thee. For we march as one with sword or powder. For country, for freedom, we Harkin of and for the fields of time.

O Harkin Mothers cry not for your husband nor the boys, for duty calls them as the trumpet blows. Mothers, Sister, Brother it is thee the drum beats for. Their sword is swift with Crimson fire, wield in thy hands. Muskets and balls of fire, they shall solute thee upon the lands. For it is not a battle of man they go to battle for, but of the heart, soul and of the mind. For they bring back with them, the soul of victory, for others may not have to go.

 O Harkin comrades young and old, the voice of us all. That mighty trumpet of time it has called. For it has or will never be forgotten as the flags of its glory reach home. O Harkin old bones of our ancestors foretold, our hearts of Crimson Fire touches thee and burns bright upon our minds and our soul.  

O Harkin to the trumpet my friends as we are called home. For we raise thy flags and shoulder thy Muskets with dignity as we wait for the trumpet to be called.