The old church bell will peal with joy,
Hurrah! hurrah!

To welcome home our darling boy,
Hurrah! hurrah!

The village lads and lasses say,
With roses they will strew the way;
And we'll all feel gay,

When Johnny comes marching home.
Get ready for the jubilee,
Hurrah! hurrah!

We'll give the hero three times three,
Hurrah! hurrah!

The laurel-wreath is ready now
To place upon his loyal brow,

And we'll all feel gay,

When Johnny comes marching home.

Let love and friendship on that day, Hurrah! hurrah!

Their choicest treasures then display,
Hurrah! hurrah!

And let each one perform some part,
To fill with joy the warrior's heart;
And we'll all feel gay,
When Johnny comes marching home.

10

20

30

1865.

THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE
REV. ABRAM J. RYAN

Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright,
Flashed the sword of Lee!

Far in the front of the deadly fight, High o'er the brave in the cause of right, Its stainless sheen like a beacon light, Led us to victory.

Out of its scabbard, where full long

It slumbered peacefully

Roused from its rest by the battle song, Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong, 10 Guarding the right, and avenging the wrong,

Gleamed the sword of Lee.

Forth from its scabbard, high in air,
Beneath Virginia's sky-

And they who saw it gleaming there,
And knew who bore it, knelt to swear
That where that sword led, they would
dare

Than ever taxed tradition's ancient story;
And in our dream we wove the thread
Of principles, for which had bled
And suffered long, our own immortal
dead,

In the land where we were dreaming.

Though in our land we had both bond and free,

Both were content; and so God let them

be;

20

'Till envy coveted our land, And those fair fields our valor won: But little recked we, for we still slept on,

In the land where we were dreaming.

Gazed eastward from the Forum where he stood,

Rome felt herself secure and free,
So "Richmond's safe," we said, while

we

Beheld a bronzed Hero-God-like LEE, In the land where we were dreaming.

As wakes the soldier when the alarum calls

As wakes the mother when her infant falls

As starts the traveller when around 69 His sleeping couch the fire-bells sound— So woke our nation with a single bound, In the land where we were dreaming.

Woe! woe is me! the startled mother cried

While we have slept, our noble sons have died,

Woe! woe is me! how strange and sad, That all our glorious vision's fled, And left us nothing real but the dead,

In the land where we were dreaming.