 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
111
COMING.
They are mustering, they are marching—
Hark, how their tramping rolls!
They are coming, coming, coming!
A hundred thousand souls!
Hark, how their tramping rolls!
They are coming, coming, coming!
A hundred thousand souls!
From the granite hills, the seaside,
In solid ranks like walls,
A thousand men to take the place
Of every man that falls!
In solid ranks like walls,
A thousand men to take the place
Of every man that falls!
Right on across the midnight,
Right onward, stern and proud,
Their red flags shining as they come
Like morning on a cloud.
Right onward, stern and proud,
112
Like morning on a cloud.
Battalion on battalion
The West its bravery pours,
For the colors God's own hand has set
In the bushes at their doors!
The West its bravery pours,
For the colors God's own hand has set
In the bushes at their doors!
In the woods and in the clearings,
Our lovers, brothers, sons,
Our young men, and our old men
Are shouldering their guns.
Our lovers, brothers, sons,
Our young men, and our old men
Are shouldering their guns.
They have heard the bugle blowing—
Heard the thunder of the drum,
And farther than the eye can see
They come, and come, and come!
Heard the thunder of the drum,
And farther than the eye can see
They come, and come, and come!
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |