  IN FORTY WEST.WE are coming from the ranch, from the city and the mine, And the word has gone before us to the towns upon the Rhine; As the rising of the tide On the Old-World side, We are coming to the battle, to the Line. From the valleys of Virginia, from the Rockies in the North, We are coming by battalions, for the word was carried forth: "We have put the pen away, And the sword is out to-day, For the Lord has loosed the Vintages of Wrath." We are singing in the ships as they carry us to fight, As our fathers sang before us by the camp-fires' light; In the wharf-light glare They can hear us Over There, When the ships come steaming through the night. Right across the deep Atlantic where the Lusitania passed, With the battle-flag of Yankeeland a-floating at the mast, We are coming all the while, Over twenty hundred mile, And were staying to the finish, to the last. We are many—we are one—and we're in it overhead, We are coming as an Army that has seen its women dead, And the old Rebel Yell Will be loud above the shell When we cross the top together, seeing red. |
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