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 For their valour is known to England's throne as a gem in the British crown; These are the men who face the front, whose courage the world may scan, The men who are feared by the felon, but are loved by the honest man; These are the marrow, the pith, the cream, the best that the blood contains, Who have cast their days in the valiant ways of the Riders of the Plains; And theirs is the kind whose muscle makes the power of old England's jaw, And they keep the peace of her people and the honour of British law.

Then down with the cur that questions,—let him slink to his craven den,— For he daren't deny our hot reply as to "who are our mounted men." He shall honour them east and westward, he shall honour them south and north, He shall bare his head to that coat of red wherever that red rides forth. 'Tis well that he knows the fibre that the great North-West contains, The North-West pride in her men that ride on the Territorial plains,— For of such as these are the muscles and the teeth in the Lion's jaw, And they keep the peace of our people and the honour of British law.