Classic Poem

Now draw the sword, the awful sword
By Washington, by Lincoln, drawn;
Be Thou, O Lord of Hosts, our Lord,
To lead Columbia's battle on.

Fraught with swift vengeance for the scath
Done to our state by haughty Spain,
Charged with a people's righteous wrath.
Our booming squadrons sweep the main.

Once more the soul of old John Brown
Returns, now marching on the sea,
To pluck the Spanish standard down
And hoist the banners of the free.

Then raise the starry ensign high,
And rouse the anger of the drum,
Till fainting Cuba hear the cry:
The soldiers of the Union come!

Draw, draw the sword, the awful sword
By Washington, by Lincoln, drawn;
Be Thou, O Lord of Hosts, our Lord,
To lead Columbia's battle on.