OCR Text |
Show Don't you hear the tramp of soldiers? Don't you hear the bugles play? Don't you see the muskets flashing In the sunlight far away? Don't you feel the ground all trembling 'Neath the tread of many feet? They are coming, tens of thousands. To the army and the fleet. They ars Yankees, they are Johnnies, They're for North and South no more; They are one, and glad to follow When Old Glory goes before. From Atlantic to Pacific. From the Pine Tree to Lone Star. They are gath'ring 'round Old Glory, And they're marching to the war. Don't you hear the horses prancing? Don't you hear the sabres clash? Don't you hear the cannons roarinet? Don't you hear the muskets crash? Don't you smell the smoke of battle? Oh. you'll wish that you had gone, When you hear the shouts and cheering For the boys who whipped the Doc! There'll be Yankees, there'll be Joh.tTiles, There'll be North and South no more. When the boys come marching homeward With Old Glory borne before. From Atlantic to Pacific, From the Pine Tree to Lone Star, They'll be one beneath Old Glory After coming from the war. |