Was sweet music compared with the taunt of their cheers

For the brunt of their onset, our crippled array,

And the light of God's leading gone out in the fray!

Oh, the rout on the left and the tug on the right!

The mad plunge of the charge and the wreck of the flight!

When the cohorts of Grant held stout Stirling at strain,

And the mongrels of Hesse went tearing the slain;

When at Freeke's Mill the flumes and the

sluices ran red,

And the dead choked the dyke and the marsh choked the dead!

"O Stirling, good Stirling! how long must we wait?

Shall the shout of your trumpet unleash us too late?

Have you never a dash for brave Mordecai Gist,

With his heart in his throat, and his blade in his fist?

Are we good for no more than to prance in a ball,

When the drums beat the charge and the clarious call ?"

Tralara! Tralara! Now praise we the Lord

For the clang of His call and the flash of His sword!

Tralara Tralara! Now forward to die; For the banner, hurrah! and for sweethearts, good-bye!

"Four hundred wild lads!" Maybe so. I'll be bound

'T will be easy to count us, face up, on the ground.

If we hold the road open, tho' Death take the toll,

We'll be missed on parade when the States call the roll

When the flags meet in peace and the guns are at rest,

And fair Freedom is singing Sweet Home in the West.