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I'll sing you an Orange song, made
by strange old pate.
Who, loving Papists in his heart, their doctrines vile did hate,
Of a fine true-hearted Protestant, faithful to Church and State,
And our grand Constitution prized, of Sixteen Eighty-eight;
Like a fine, true-hearted Protestant, one of the olden time.
His heart and purse had ready been,
to aid the good old cause,
And his brave right hand drew the sword in aid of King and laws;
When duty urged him into strife, he did not dare to pause,
But taught to save all that he lov'd from Rome's devouring jaws;
Like a fine, true-hearted Protestant, one of the olden time.
And when each year the sun shone out
upon that hallowed day
When William drove the tyrant James from Boyne's famed banks away;
Yes, on each twelfth day of July, he'd head the grand array
Of those who bless'd their father's God for crushing Popish sway;
Like a fine, true-hearted Protestant, one of the olden time.
And there were dangers in his path,
yet felt he honest pride
In their illustrious names and deeds, who in truth's cause have died;
And trusting only in his God, his bright sword by his side,
Abroad, at home, in peace or strife, Rome's legions he defied:
Like a fine, true-hearted Protestant, one of the olden time.
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