Hark! The Summons
Hark! The Summons.
Hark! in the South the thund’ ring drum,
The gathering myriads ceaseless hum;
As strong and joyful forth they come,
Back to drive the “Northern scum,”
And send each willing sword right home.
Hark! in the South the gladsome fife,
With martial strains unceasing rife,
Bidding each now leave his wife;
And arm him for the holy strife,
To serve his country with his life.
Hark! to the trumpets’ ringing sound,
Calling on all freemen round,
To muster for the battle ground;
To rescue their true brethren bound,
By Seward, Lincoln’s dire blood-hound.
Hark! to the bugle’s cheery notes,
See how afar its music floats;
Re-echoed by a myriad throats,
Each of whom his life devotes,
T’uphold that flag which o’er him floats.
Hark! to the cymbal’s clashing ring,
Calling each his arms to bring;
And then defiance back to fling,
To Abe, the Abolition king,
And drive from earth that wanton thing!