Our sharp-shooting rifles shall make for us room.
From Sumter we first heard the cannon’s loud booming—
O’er crimson Potomac the sound rose again;
And now from Missouri, where war-clouds are looming,
We hear the loud summons of true-hearted men.
Give us room! give us room!
Give us room! give us room!
Our sharp-shooting rifles will soon make us room.
Brave Cameron lies low with the sods of the valley,
And Lyon’s bold bosom is cold in the grave;