And children from their mothers’ knees are pulling at the weeds,
And learning how to reap and sow, against their country’s needs;
And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door—
We are coming Father Abraam, three hundred thousand more!
You have called us and we’re coming, by Richmond’s bloody tide,
To lay us down for freedom’s sake, our brothers’ bones beside;
Or from foul treason’s savage grasp to wrench the murderous blade,
And in the fore of foreign foes its fragments to parade.
Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before—
We are coming Father Abraam, three hundred thousand more!