[During the Civil War this song was frequently sung upon the march by the soldiers of the Army of the Potomac. Except “When this Cruel War is Over” and the doggerel about “John Brown’s Body,” there was scarcely any song so often heard. The name of the leader was changed, from time to time, to accord with the facts.--EDITOR.] The army is gathering from near and from far; The trumpet is sounding the call for the war; McClellan’s our leader, he’s gallant and strong; We’ll gird on our armor and be marching along. _Chorus._--Marching along, we are marching along, Gird on the armor and be marching along; McClellan’s our leader, he’s gallant and strong; For God and our country we are marching along. The foe is before us in battle array, But let us not waver, or turn from the way; The Lord is our strength, and the Union’s our song; With courage and faith we are marching along. _Chorus._--Marching along, etc. Our wives and our children we leave in your care; We feel you will help them with sorrow to bear: ’Tis hard thus to part, but we hope ’twon’t be long: We’ll keep up our heart as we’re marching along. _Chorus._--Marching along, etc. We sigh for our country, we mourn for our dead; For them now our last drop of blood we will shed; Our cause is the right one--our foe’s in the wrong; Then gladly we’ll sing as we’re marching along. _Chorus._--Marching along, etc. The flag of our country is floating on high; We’ll stand by that flag till we conquer or die; McClellan’s our leader, he’s gallant and strong; We’ll gird on our armor and be marching along. _Chorus._--Marching along, etc. [Illustration] THE BURIAL OF LATANÉ. BY JOHN R. THOMPSON. [Captain Latané, of Stuart’s Confederate cavalry was killed during the Pamunkey expedition in 1862. He was buried by a company of women, one of whom read the service for the dead, while a little girl strewed flowers on the grave.--EDITOR.] The combat raged not long, but ours the day; And, through the hosts that compassed us around, Our little band rode proudly on its way, Leaving one gallant comrade, glory-crowned, Unburied on the field he died to gain-- Single of all his men, amid the hostile slain. One moment on the battle’s edge he stood-- Hope’s halo, like a helmet, round his hair; The next beheld him, dabbled in his blood, Prostrate in death--and yet, in death how fair! Even thus he passed through the red gates of strife, From earthly crowns and palms, to an immortal life. A brother bore his body from the field, And gave it unto strangers’ hands, that closed The calm blue eyes, on earth forever sealed, And tenderly the slender limbs composed: Strangers, yet sisters, who, with Mary’s love, Sat by the open tomb, and, weeping, looked above.