They've 'scaped from the torture-den,
They've broken the bloody sod,
They're all come to life again!—
The Third of a Million men
That died for Thee and for God!
A tenderer green than May
The Eternal Season wears,—
The blue of our summer's day
Is dim and pallid to theirs,—
The Horror faded away,
And 'twas heaven all unawares!
Tents on the Infinite Shore!
Flags in the azuline sky,
Sails on the seas once more!
To-day, in the heaven on high,
All under arms once more!
The troops are all in their lines,
The guidons flutter and play;
But every bayonet shines,
For all must march to-day.
What lofty pennons flaunt?
What mighty echoes haunt,
As of great guns, o'er the main?
Hark to the sound again—
The Congress is all a-taunt!
The Cumberland's manned again!
All the ships and their men
Are in line of battle to-day,—
All at quarters, as when
Their last roll thundered away,—
All at their guns, as then,
For the Fleet salutes to-day.
The armies have broken camp
On the vast and sunny plain,
The drums are rolling again;
With steady, measured tramp,
They're marching all again.
With alignment firm and solemn,
Once again they form
In mighty square and column,—
But never for charge and storm.
The Old Flag they died under
Floats above them on the shore,
And on the great ships yonder
The ensigns dip once more—
And once again the thunder
Of the thirty guns and four!
In solid platoons of steel,
Under heaven's triumphal arch,
The long lines break and wheel—
And the word is, "Forward, march!"