With the battle-flag of Yankeeland a-floating at the mast,
We are coming all the while,
Over twenty hundred mile,
And were staying to the finish, to the last.
We are many—we are one—and we're in it overhead,
We are coming as an Army that has seen its women dead,
And the old Rebel Yell
Will be loud above the shell
When we cross the top together, seeing red.