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111. our men are marching on.

by George W. Bungay.
The day our fathers waited for is dawning on us now;
I see the mantle falling on the prophet at the plough;
I hear the trumpet ringing where the victors strike he blow--
Our men are marching on.

Niagara shouts the chorus of the rivers to the sea;
Each wave swells like the bosom that is panting to be free;
The stars are lit in heaven for the nation's jubilee--
Our men are marching on.

Sweet promises are written on the soft leaves of the flowers;
The birds of spring are jubilant within their leafy towers;
A rainbow has been woven in the shuttle of the showers--
Our men are marching on.

God bless our gallant President, and grant him length of days;
Let all the people crown him with fame's unfading lays,
And generations yet unborn perpetuate his praise--
Our men are marching on.

Van Nostrand. New York, New York. 1862.

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