With Wharton for our leader,
We'll chase the dastard foe,
Till our horses bathe their fetlocks
In the deep blue Ohio.
Our men are from the prairies,
That roll broad and proud and free,
From the high and craggy mountains
To the murmuring Mexic' sea;
And their hearts are open as their plains,
Their thoughts as proudly brave
As the bold cliffs of the San Bernard,
Or the Gulf's resistless wave.
Then quick! into the saddle,
And shake the bridle free,
To-day, with gallant Wharton,
We cross the Tennessee.
'Tis joy to be a Ranger!
To fight for dear Southland;
'Tis joy to follow Wharton,
With his gallant, trusty band!
'Tis joy to see our Harrison,
Plunge like a meteor bright
Into the thickest of the fray,
And deal his deathly might.
Oh! who'd not be a Ranger,
And follow Wharton's cry!
To battle for his country--
And, if it needs be--die!
By the Colorado's waters,
On the Gulf's deep murmuring shore,
On our soft green peaceful prairies
Are the homes we may see no more;
But in those homes our gentle wives,
And mothers with silv'ry hairs,
Are loving us with tender hearts,
And shielding us with prayers.
So, trusting in our country's God,
We draw our stout, good brand,
For those we love at home,
Our altars and our land.
Up, up with the crimson battle-flag--
Let the blue pennon fly;
Our steeds are stamping proudly--
They hear the battle-cry!
The thundering bomb, the bugle's call,
Proclaim the foe is near;
We strike for God and native land,
And all we hold most dear.
Then spring into the saddle,
And shake the bridle free--
For Wharton leads, through fire and blood,
For Home and Victory!