|
We Are Coming, Father Abr'am
by James Sloan Gibbons
We are coming, Father Abr'am,
Three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi's winding stream
And from New England's shore;
We leave our plows and workshops,
Our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance,
With but a silent tear,
We dare not look behind us,
But steadfastly before,
We are coming Father Abr'am,
Three hundred thousand more!
(Chorus)
We are coming, we are coming,
Our Union to restore,
We are coming Father Abr'am,
With three hundred thousand more,
We are coming Father Abr'am,
With three hundred thousand more,
If you look across the hilltops
That meet the Northern sky,
Long moving lines of rising dust
Your vision may descry;
And now the wind, an instant,
Tears the cloudy veil aside,
And floats aloft our spangled flag
In glory and in pride;
And bayonets in the sunlight gleam,
And bands brave music pour.
We are coming, Father Abr'am,
Three hundred thousand more!
(Chorus)
If you look all up our valleys
Where the growing harvests shine,
You may see our sturdy farmer boys
Fast forming into line;
And children from their mother's knees
Are pulling at the weeds,
And learning how to reap and sow
Against their country's needs;
And a farewell group stands weeping
At every cottage door.
We are coming, Father Abr'am,
Three hundred thousand more!
(Chorus)
You have called us and we're coming,
By Richmond's bloody tide,
To lay us down for Freedom's sake,
Our brothers' bones beside;
Or from foul treason's savage group,
To wrench the murderous blade;
And in the face of foreign foes
Its fragments to parade;
Six hundred thousand loyal men
And true have gone before.
We are coming Father Abr'am,
Three hundred thousand more!
|
