60. war song.
I march to meet the foe;
A pirate band have cursed the land,
Then deal the deadly blow.
To Richmond on, and write upon
Her walls the words of doom;
Secession's horde from Freedom's sword
Deserves a bloody tomb.
Sound, bugle, sound! a rally round
The Star-flag of the Free;
Nursed by a flood of generous blood
Was Freedom's sacred tree.
Accursed by God in dust be trod
Rebellion's hellish horde;
The fiends to tame hearts are aflame
With cannon-peal and sword.
'Tis hard to leave the babes that grieve
For a fond, absent sire;
His cherished wife, charm of his life,
To brave the battle's fire;
But duty calls, and loudly falls
Our war-cry on the ear;
Our banners wave above the brave--
Then on! and know not fear.