. American war ballads and lyrics: a collection of the songs and ballads of the colonial wars, the revolution, the war of 1812-15, the war with Mexico, and the civil war . ck The whirlwind ; stand in her defence :The blast as soon shall move the rock, As rushing squadrons bear ye thence. And ye whose homes are by her grand Swift rivers, rising far from the depth of her green land As mighty in your march as they ;As terrible as when the rains Have swelled them over bank and bourne,With sudden floods to drown the plains And sweep along the woods uptorn. And ye who throng beside the dee
. American war ballads and lyrics: a collection of the songs and ballads of the colonial wars, the revolution, the war of 1812-15, the war with Mexico, and the civil war . ck The whirlwind ; stand in her defence :The blast as soon shall move the rock, As rushing squadrons bear ye thence. And ye whose homes are by her grand Swift rivers, rising far from the depth of her green land As mighty in your march as they ;As terrible as when the rains Have swelled them over bank and bourne,With sudden floods to drown the plains And sweep along the woods uptorn. And ye who throng beside the deep,Her ports and hamlets of the strand, In number like the waves that leapOn his long-murmuring marge of sand. i8o ©ur Countrys Call Come, like that deep, when, oer his brim,He rises, all his floods to pour. And flings the proudest barks that swim,A helpless wreck against his shore. Few, few were they whose swords of old Won the fair land in which we dwell;But we are many, we who hold The grim resolve to guard it for that broad and goodly land, Blow after blow, till men shall seeThat Might and Right move hand in hand, And Glorious must their triumph A CRY TO ARMS. By henry TIMROD. T T O, woodsmen of the mountain-side !li Ho, dwellers in the vales !Ho, ye who by the chafing tide Have roughened in the gales !Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot. Lay by the bloodless spade ;Let desk and case and counter rot. And burn your books of trade ! The despot roves your fairest lands ; And till he flies or fears,Your fields must grow but armed bands, Your sheaves be sheaves of spears !Give up to mildew and to rust The useless tools of gain,And feed your countrys sacred dust With floods of crimson rain !i8i i82 B Crs to Brms Come with the weapons at your call— With musket, pike, or knife ;He wields the deadliest blade of all Who lightest holds his arm that drives its uubought blows With all a patriots brain a tyrant with a rose Or stab him with a tho
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