  Hark! ye freemen, hark the strain, Echoing o’er Columbia’s plain; Up, and strike with all your main, Lay the tyrant low. Banners waving all around, Beckoning with joyous sound, Wake convulsions ’neath the ground, Burdened with our foe. Now a hotter contest comes, Rousing freemen from their homes, Leaving wives and little ones, For your country’s cause. Gird the armor then aright, Let your words be ordered right, Battle in this glorious fight, Lincoln, then, our Leader be, Sturdy hero for the free, Follow him to victory, And give him the power. Slavery’s chains shall soon be broke— Soon the whip and galling yoke Shall be moored by Freedom’s stroke, Then the glorious hour. Lincoln, then, shall be the song Of a free and joyous throng— He shall wave the scepter long From the nation’s throne. We shall labor, toil, and pray For the dawn of Freedom’s day— Ceasing not till we can say, Victory is won! |
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