The Scottish Covenanters were a group of devout Presbyterians in 17th-century Scotland who fiercely opposed attempts by the British monarchy to impose Anglican rule over their church. Their name comes from the National Covenant of 1638, a document they signed to affirm their commitment to Presbyterianism and reject interference from the king in religious affairs. This defiance led to decades of brutal persecution, as Covenanters resisted the imposition of bishops and fought for the right to worship according to their beliefs. Many were imprisoned, executed, or forced into exile, with their movement becoming a defining chapter in Scotland’s struggle for religious freedom.
By the late 1600s and early 1700s, many Covenanters, including Gabriel Morison’s family, sought refuge in Northern Ireland, particularly in Ulster, where they formed part of the growing Scotch-Irish population. However, life there was still challenging, marked by continued political and religious tensions between Protestants and Catholics. Faced with economic hardship and limited opportunities due to primogeniture inheritance laws, many Covenanters, like Gabriel, eventually emigrated to America, bringing their faith, resilience, and strong community values with them. Their legacy shaped the frontier settlements of Pennsylvania and beyond, where they continued to uphold their Presbyterian traditions and play a vital role in early American society.
Lyrics:
From the highland glens we rode,
To the shores where cold winds blow,
By the will of the crown, we swore,
To claim a land not ours before.
The banners flew in crimson dawn,
A call from the king, we marched upon,
Through stormy tides and battle cries,
To carve our fate in foreign skies.
Steel in hand, a bold decree,
To tame the land across the sea,
On Ulster’s soil, we struck our claim,
With fire, with stone, in Scotland’s name.
We are the sons of the Covenant bold,
Bound by the king and the tithes of old!
Through blood and toil, we made our stand,
Forged by war in a promised land!
The hills they burned, the rivers ran red,
With whispers of war and ghosts of the dead,
From native blades and rebel spears,
We fought through steel and bitter years.
Yet still we stood, our roots grew deep,
In rugged stone and fields we keep,
By iron law and battle-won,
A home was made, though peace was none.
We are the sons of the Covenant bold,
Bound by the king and the tithes of old!
Through blood and toil, we made our stand,
Forged by war in a promised land!
Oaths were sworn, blades were drawn,
Lands were taken, kings moved on,
Scotsmen made the frontier strong,
But peace was fleeting, right or wrong.
Though kings may change and empires fall,
Our spirit roars, we heed the call,
Through battle’s storm and ages past,
The sons of Ulster ever last!
From the highland glens we rode,
To the shores where cold winds blow,
By the will of the crown, we swore,
To claim a land not ours before.