"Yet stay, courier, if you bear Tell them we 're ready, and that where Where to form our ranks and when; That they've met with some of 'the men.' "We're the men, though our clothes are worn— We're the men, though we wear no laceWe're the men, who the foe have torn, And scattered their ranks in dire disgraceWe're the men who have triumphed before— We're the men who will triumph again; For the dust and the smoke and the cannon's roar, And the clashing bayonets- we're the men.' "Ye who sneer at the battle-scars, Of garments faded and soiled and bare, Yet who have for the 'stars and bars' Praise and homage and dainty fare; Mock the wearers and pass them on, Refuse them kindly word—and then Know if your freedom is ever won By human agents-these are the men!" [Southern.] A WAKE! and to horse my brothers, And hark! in the crackling brushwood, "Who cometh ?" "A friend." "What tidings?" "O God! I sicken to tell, For the earth seems earth no longer, "There 's rapine and fire and slaughter, From the mountain down to the shore, There's blood on the trampled harvest, And blood on the homestead floor. "From the far-off conquered cities, And the shrieks and moans of the homeless "I have seen from the smoking village, "On the banks of the battle-stained river, "Where my home was glad, are ashes, And horror and shame had been there, For I found on the fallen lintel, This tress of my wife's torn hair. "They are turning the slave upon us, And with more than the fiend's worst art. Have uncovered the fires of the savage, That slept in his untaught heart. "The ties to our hearts that bound him, "With halter and torch and Bible, And hymns to the sound of the drum, They preach the gospel of murder, And pray for lust's kingdom to come. "To saddle! my brothers! to saddle! Look up to the rising sun, And ask of the God who shines there, Whether deeds like these shall be done. "Whither the vandal cometh, Press home to his heart with your steel, And where'er at his bosom ye cannot, Like the serpent, go strike at his heel. "Through thicket and wood go hunt him, "In his fainting footsore marches, "In God's hands alone is vengeance, "By the graves where our fathers slumber, By the shrines where our mothers prayed, By our homes and hopes of freedom, |