There is a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;
There’s a good time coming, boys,
Wait a little longer;
We may not live to see the day,
But earth shall glisten in the ray
Of the good time coming;
Cannon-balls may aid the truth,
But thought’s a weapon stronger;
We’ll win our battles by its aid,
Wait a little longer.
There’s a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming,
There’s a good time coming, boys.
Wait a little longer.
There’s a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;
There’s a good time coming, boys,
Wait a little longer;
The pen shall supersede the sword,
And right, not might, shall be the lord,
In the good time comidg;
Worth, not birth, shall rule mankind,
And be acknowledged stronger,
The proper impulse has been given,
Wait a little longer.
There’s a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming,
There’s a good time coming, boys,
Wait a little longer.
The Hills of New England.
The hills of New England, how proudly they rise,
In their wildness of grandeur to blend with the skies,
With their far azure outline, and tall, ancient trees,
New England, my country, I love thee for these.
The vales of New England, that cradle her streams,
And smile in their beauty like land in our dreams;
All sunny with beauty, embosom’d in ease.
New England, my country, I love thee for these.
The woods of New England, still verdant and high,
Though rock’d by the tempest of ages gone by;
Romance dims their arches, and speaks in the breeze,
New England, my country, I love thee for these.
The streams of New England, that roar as they go,
Or seem in their wildness but dreaming to flow;
Oh! bright gilds the sunbeam their march to the seas,
New England, my country, I love thee for these.