  Freemen, banish all your fears, Lo! the promised morn appears, Long foretold by Freedom’s seers— Lincoln takes the field. Victory flashes in his eye, Speaks in every battle-cry, Rings along the vaulted sky, Blazes on his shield. See the Western prairies flame At the mention of his name; Hear a people’s loud acclaim, Conscious of their might; Then behold the guilty foe, Glutted with a nation’s woe— Patriots, do you fear them?—No. God will speed the right. Standing on the sacred sod, Where our fearless fathers trod; Must we tamely kiss the rod, Bowing low the knee? Foemen of your country’s weal, Bid your pampered hirelings kneel, Crush them with your iron heel— And by all we love on earth, By the land that gave us birth, Friends of toil and honest worth, Like our honored sires, Heart to heart, and hand in hand, We will march, a conquering band, Till the altars of our land Glow with Freedom’s fires. |
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