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, Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame! Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, Loud rings the Nation's cry UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE! Light of our firmament, guide of our Nation, Empire unsceptred! what foe shall assail thee, Yet if, by madness and treachery blighted, 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 Dawns the dark hour when the sword thou must draw, Then with the arms of thy millions united, Lord of the Universe! shield us and guide us, Up with our banner bright, Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, 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; 20 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! While we rally 'round the flag, boys, rally once again, 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, But quickly from yon antlers bring The sword was brought, the soldier's eye And as he grasped the ancient blade, 15 20 5 IO 15 20 Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold - I leave you, mark me, mark me now ""T was on that dread, immortal day, A captain raised this blade on me And while the glorious battle raged, For, boy, the God of freedom blessed "Oh, keep the sword!". his accents broke A smile and he was dead But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade The son remains; the sword remains Its glory growing still And twenty millions bless the sire, And sword of Bunker Hill. 25 THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING (1862) BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ° Our of the North the wild news came, The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, The answering tread of hurrying feet; While the first oath of Freedom's gun 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; 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; Wears on her breast, like her own heart, A bud whose depths are all perfume; The pastor came; his snowy locks Hallowed his brow of thought and care; The pastor rose; the prayer was strong; "The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!" 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 30 |