The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics Part 11

Battle-hymn of the Republic.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fatal lightning of His terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel: "As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal; Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel!

Since G.o.d is marching on."

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat; Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!

Our G.o.d is marching on.

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 G.o.d is marching on.

J.W. HOWE.

Farragut.

Farragut, Farragut, Old Heart of Oak, Daring Dave Farragut, Thunderbolt stroke, Watches the h.o.a.ry mist Lift from the bay, Till his flag, glory-kissed, Greets the young day.

Far, by gray Morgan's walls, Looms the black fleet.

Hark, deck to rampart calls With the drums' beat!

Buoy your chains overboard, While the steam hums; Men! to the battlement, Farragut comes.

See, as the hurricane Hurtles in wrath Squadrons of clouds amain Back from its path!

Back to the parapet, To the guns' lips, Thunderbolt Farragut Hurls the black s.h.i.+ps.

Now through the battle's roar Clear the boy sings, "By the mark fathoms four,"

While his lead swings.

Steady the wheelmen five "Nor' by east keep her,"

"Steady," but two alive: How the sh.e.l.ls sweep her!

Lashed to the mast that sways Over red decks, Over the flame that plays Round the torn wrecks, Over the dying lips Framed for a cheer, Farragut leads his s.h.i.+ps, Guides the line clear.

On by heights cannon-browed, While the spars quiver; Onward still flames the cloud Where the hulks s.h.i.+ver.

See, yon fort's star is set, Storm and fire past.

Cheer him, lads,--Farragut, Lashed to the mast!

Oh! while Atlantic's breast Bears a white sail, While the Gulf's towering crest Tops a green vale; Men thy bold deeds shall tell, Old Heart of Oak, Daring Dave Farragut, Thunderbolt stroke!

W.T. MEREDITH.

My Maryland.

The despot's heel is on thy sh.o.r.e, Maryland!

His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland!

Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, And be the battle-queen of yore, Maryland, my Maryland!

Hark to an exiled son's appeal, Maryland!

My Mother State, to thee I kneel, Maryland!

For life and death, for woe and weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland, my Maryland!

Thou wilt not cower in the dust, Maryland!

Thy beaming sword shall never rust, Maryland!

Remember Carroll's sacred trust, Remember Howard's warlike thrust, And all thy slumberers with the just, Maryland, my Maryland!

Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day, Maryland!

Come with thy panoplied array, Maryland!

With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, With Watson's blood at Monterey, With fearless Lowe and das.h.i.+ng May, Maryland, my Maryland!

Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain, Maryland!

Virginia should not call in vain, Maryland!

She meets her sisters on the plain,-- _"Sic semper!"_ 'tis the proud refrain That baffles minions back amain, Maryland!

Arise in majesty again, Maryland, my Maryland!

Come! for thy s.h.i.+eld is bright and strong, Maryland!

Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, Maryland!

Come to thine own heroic throng Stalking with Liberty along, And chant thy dauntless slogan-song, Maryland, my Maryland!

I see the blush upon thy cheek, Maryland!

For thou wast ever bravely meek, Maryland!

But lo! there surges forth a shriek, From hill to hill, from creek to creek, Potomac calls to Chesapeake, Maryland, my Maryland!

Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, Maryland!

Thou wilt not crook to his control, Maryland!

Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the soul, Maryland, my Maryland!

I hear the distant thunder-hum, Maryland!

The old Line's bugle, fife, and drum, Maryland!

She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb; Huzza! she spurns the Northern sc.u.m!

She breathes! She burns! She'll come!

She'll come!

Maryland, my Maryland!

J.R. RANDALL.