In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me; As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on.

UNION AND LIBERTY (1861)

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES°

FLAG of the heroes who left us their glory,
Borne through their battlefields' thunder and flame,
Blazoned in song and illumined in story,

Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame!
Up with our banner bright,
Sprinkled with starry light,

Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
While through the sounding sky

Loud rings the Nation's cry

UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!

Light of our firmament, guide of our Nation,
Pride of her children, and honored afar,
Let the wide beams of thy full constellation
Scatter each cloud that would darken a star!
Up with our banner bright, etc.

Empire unsceptred! what foe shall assail thee,
Bearing the standard of Liberty's van?
Think not the God of thy fathers shall fail thee,
Striving with men for the birthright of man!
Up with our banner bright, etc.

Yet if, by madness and treachery blighted,

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Dawns the dark hour when the sword thou must draw,

Then with the arms of thy millions united,
Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law!
Up with our banner bright, etc.

Lord of the Universe! shield us and guide us,
Trusting Thee always, through shadow and sun!
Thou hast united us, who shall divide us?
Keep us, oh, keep us the MANY IN ONE!

Up with our banner bright,
Sprinkled with starry light,

Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
While through the sounding sky

Loud rings the Nation's cry,

UNION AND LIBERTY!

ONE EVERMORE!

BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM (1861)

BY GEORGE F. ROOT

YES, we'll rally 'round the flag, boys, we'll rally once again,

15 Shouting the battle-cry of freedom;

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We will rally from the hillside, we'll gather from the plain, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

Chorus

The Union forever, hurrah, boys, hurrah!
Down with the traitor, up with the star,

While we rally 'round the flag, boys, rally once again,
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

And we'll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen more, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

Chorus

We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true, and brave, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

And altho' they may be poor, not a man shall be a slave, 5 Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

Chorus

So we're springing to the call from the East and from the West,

Shouting the battle-cry of freedom,

And we'll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love the best,

Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

ΙΟ

Chorus

THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL (1861)

BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE °

He lay upon his dying bed;

His eye was growing dim,

When with a feeble voice he called

His weeping son to him:

"Weep not, my boy!" the vet'ran said,
"I bow to Heaven's high will

But quickly from yon antlers bring
The sword of Bunker Hill."

The sword was brought, the soldier's eye
Lit with a sudden flame;

And as he grasped the ancient blade,
He murmured Warren's name;

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Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold -
But what is richer still,

I leave you, mark me, mark me now
The sword of Bunker Hill.

""T was on that dread, immortal day,
I dared the Briton's band,

A captain raised this blade on me
I tore it from his hand :

And while the glorious battle raged,
It lightened freedom's will

For, boy, the God of freedom blessed
The sword of Bunker Hill.

"Oh, keep the sword!".

his accents broke

A smile and he was dead

But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade
Upon that dying bed.

The son remains; the sword remains

Its glory growing still

And twenty millions bless the sire,

And sword of Bunker Hill.

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THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING (1862)

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ°

Our of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.
And there was tumult in the air,

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat,
And through the wide land everywhere

The answering tread of hurrying feet;

While the first oath of Freedom's gun
Came on the blast from Lexington;
And Concord, roused, no longer tame,
Forgot her old baptismal name,
Made bare her patriot arm of power,
And swelled the discord of the hour.
Within its shade of elm and oak

The church of Berkeley Manor stood;

There Sunday found the rural folk,

And some esteemed of gentle blood.

In vain their feet with loitering tread

Passed 'mid the graves where rank is naught;
All could not read the lesson taught

In that republic of the dead.

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk,

The vale with peace and sunshine full

Where all the happy people walk,

Decked in their homespun flax and wool!

Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom;
And every maid with simple art,

Wears on her breast, like her own heart,

A bud whose depths are all perfume;
While every garment's gentle stir
Is breathing rose and lavender.

The pastor came; his snowy locks

Hallowed his brow of thought and care;
And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer.

The pastor rose; the prayer was strong;
The psalm was warrior David's song;
The text, a few short words of might

"The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!"

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