  Millions lie bleeding on the Southern plains, Tyrants, unheeding, bind on their chains; Moaning in sorrow, toiling in their pain, Sighing for Liberty, but sighing in vain. Onward, then, true hearts and brave, Forge no chains for other slaves; Brothers, we our land must save See the helpless mother, on the auction-block, Shrieking for her children! Hear the tyrants mock! See them torn asunder, ne’er to meet again! Gone to the rice-swamps—dragging their chains. Onward, etc. The War-cry is sounding on our Northern hills, Free hearts are bounding—Liberty yet thrills. Screams our wild Eagle, soaring to the sky, God sent him here to live—our bird shall not die. Onward, etc. |
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