GRAND CHORUS.
War has still its melody;——
When blows come thick, and arrows fly,
When the soldier marches o'er
The crimson field, knee-deep in gore,
By carnage, and grim death, surrounded,
And groans of dying men confounded;—
If the warlike drum he hear,
And the shrill trumpet strike his ear.
Roused by the spirit-stirring tones,