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THE CAPTAIN OF '63 TO HIS MEN. 307 |
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THE CAPTAIN OF '63 TO HIS MEN.
COME to the field, boys, come !
Come at the call of the stirring drum — Come, boys, come! Yonder 's the foe to our country's fame, Waiting to blot out her very name — Where is the man that would see her shame V Come, boys, come !
Form, my brave men, form !
Stand in order to " meet the storm "—
Form, men, form! Sacred to us is our native land ! Shrivelled for aye be each traitor-hand Lifted to shatter so bright a band—
Form, men, form!
Charge, my soldiers, charge !
From the steep hill to the river's marge,
Charge ! charge ! charge ! Think of our wives and mothers dear; Think of the hopes that have led us here ; Think of the hearts that will give us cheer —
Charge, boys, charge ! |
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