Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 6.
Frank Moore, Ed.

Hurrah! the boys are moving — the fife and drum speak war;
     A Quaker's son is captain, and numbers up his score,
And harvest past, right well we know, he'll drill his eighty more.
     For it must be done, the people say;
It must be done, and now's the day;
     It must be done, and this the way--
Come list, my boys, enlist.

The fields stand rough in stubble, the wheat is under roof;
     What are you made of, country boys? come, give your mother proof:
Your comrades fight, and cowards you if you shall stand aloof.
     For it must be done, the people say, etc.

Up, change the rake for rifle — the companies recruit;
     Come, out with arms all brawn, and learn the secret how to shoot;
Your sisters, in the cider-time, will gather in the fruit.
     For it must be done, the people say, etc.

Good tidings for the telegraph, swift let the message run;
     Old Chester sends her greeting proud along to Washington;
Each farm-house pours it treasures free, and consecrates a son.
     For it must be done, the people say, etc. [35]
Hurrah! hurrah! old farmer, shout from your browntanned throat;
     Pish! for each home-found man, to-day, who wears moustache or goat;
For every male who well might go, but stays, a petticoat.
     For it must be done, the people say, etc.

Hurrah! hurrah! old farmer's wife, you'll see the whole thing done;
     The maidens will be weaving it — you'll see the worsted spun;
The coward's be the petticoat--but it will not be your son.

For it must be done, the people say;
     It must be done, and now's the day;
It must be done, and this the way--
     Come list, my boys, enlist.