Classic Poem

We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi's winding stream and from NeWengland's shore;
We leave our plows and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance and but a silent tear,
We dare not look behind us, but steadily before.
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.
We are coming, coming, coming; we are coming, coming, coming;
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.

If you look across the hill-tops that meet our Northern sky,
Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry;
And now the wind an instant tears the cloudy veil aside,
And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride,
And bayonets in the sunlight gleam and bands brave music pour—
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.
We are coming, coming, coming; we are coming, coming, coming;
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.

If you look all down our valleys, where the growing harvests shine,
You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast falling into line,
And children at their mothers' knees are pulling at the weeds,
And learning how to reap and sow against their country's needs,
And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door—
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.
We are coming, coming, coming; we are coming, coming, coming;
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.

You have called us and we're coming by Richmond's bloody tide,
To lay us down for Freedom's sake our brothers' bones beside,
Or from foul treason's savage grasp to wrench the murderous blade,
And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade;
Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before—
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.
We are coming, coming, coming; we are coming, coming, coming;
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.