The petty partisans of party war, 
The hireling quillmen, and the jingo crowd, 
The well-paid patriots, scenting from afar 
Silence, their doom—shall they eclipse the star 
Now crescent in the sky, whose music loud 
Rejoices humble hearts and true men all, 
And sounds the funeral 
Dirge of slave, tyrant, priest, that snarl, and snarling fall ? 
 
These we forget—remembering only this : 
Ye are blood-brothers, and our tongues are one ; 
Our hopes and conquests in one splendid kiss 
Unite and struggle not for empire.  Is 
Our land and yours too little for the sun 
To gladden, to illume, to bid increase, 
Bound by two mighty seas 
In one fraternal clasp of admirable peace ? 
 
Ye are our brothers ; ye have spurned the power 
That bound the islands of your eastern shore ; 
Ye have restored to freedom that fair flower, 
Cuba, in her most agonising hour, 
And east and west have thundered with red war. 
We freed us from the slavery of Spain, 
And laid upon the main 
Our hand three centuries back—and ye have struck again.
 
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