Published by Chas.Magnus, 12 Frankfort St., N.Y.
Then what if we think of the wild wood first,
Its raving storms unquiet;
Of the bugle horn, and the hunting burst,
And horse and hound at riot?
How the stag with a dash through the water goes?
The flood’s white whirl has bound him;
How the huntsman hoops to the scent and halloos,
The deadly shots fly round him?
Then what if we think of the wilder sea,
And hear the billows beating,
The thunder rolling magnificently,
The whirlwind’s din repeating?
See, how the little bark heaves and groans!
How mast and cordage fail her;
And hear the distress-gun’s booming tones
And the curse of the careless sailor.
Then what if we think of war’s wild chance,
And Americans in fight engaging,
Of the ringing sword, and the shivering lance,
And the snorting coursers raging?
Of the roll of the drum, and the trump’s shrill call
Speeding forth the beleaguering power,
The roar of the cannon, the breach of the wall,
And the crash of the toppling tower?
Then what if we think of the last great day
And the angel clarions calling,
The graves that are rifted, the thunder’s pla
And the stars from the firmament falling
The yawning hell-gulf roaring loud,
Its torrent of wild flame spouting;
Or, high above the gilded cloud,
The saints in triumph shouting?
Then, after the wood and the wildering chace,
And Ocean’s billows heaving,
And the fight of Americans, face to face,
And the day where there’s no reprieving.
Oh! a thought for ourselves but mete appears,
For our vociferous singing,
Our loud Hurrah! and lenthen’d cheers.
Our glasses’ joyous ringing.