John S. Gibbons.
An American Lyric.—To Abraham Lincoln,
On his demand for 300,000 Men.
We’re coming, Father Abraam, we’re coming all along,
But don’t you think you’re coming it yourself a little strong?
Three hundred thousand might be called a pretty tidy figure,
We’ve nearly sent you white enough, why don’t you take the nigger?
Consider, Father Abraam, and give the thing a thought,
This war has just attained four times the longitude it ought;