Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman Went up from each valley and glen, And the bugles re-echoed the music That came from the lips of the men; For we knew that the stars in our banner More bright in their splendor would be, And that blessings from Northland would greet us When Sherman marched down to the sea. Then forward, boys! forward to battle! We marched on our wearisome way, We stormed the wild hills of Resaca, God bless those who fell on that day! Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory, Frowned down on the flag of the free, But the East and the West bore our standard And Sherman marched on to the sea. Still onward we pressed till our banners Swept out from Atlanta’s grim walls, And the blood of the patriot dampened The soil where the traitor flag falls. We paused not to weep for the fallen, Who slept by each river and tree. Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel As Sherman marched down to the sea. Oh, proud was our army that morning, That stood where the pine darkly towers, When Sherman said: “Boys, you are weary, But to-day fair Savannah is ours!” Then sang we the song of our chieftain, That echoed o’er river and lea, And the stars in our banner shone brighter When Sherman marched down to the sea. [Illustration] [Illustration] SHERMAN’S MARCH BY A SOLDIER. Their lips are still as the lips of the dead, The gaze of their eyes is straight ahead; The tramp, tramp, tramp of ten thousand feet Keep time to that muffled, monotonous beat,-- Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! Ten thousand more! and still they come To fight a battle for Christendom! With cannon and caissons, and flags unfurled, The foremost men in all the world! Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! The foe is entrenched on the frowning hill,-- A natural fortress, strengthened by skill; But vain are the walls to those who face The champions of the human race! Rub a dub dub; rub a dub dub! “By regiment! Forward into line!” Then sabres and guns and bayonets shine. Oh ye, who feel your fate at last, Repeat the old prayer as your hearts beat fast! Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! Oh, ye who waited and prayed so long That Right might have a fair fight with Wrong, No more in fruitless marches shall plod, But smite the foe with the wrath of God! Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! O Death! what a charge that carried the hill! That carried, and kept, and holds it still! The foe is broken and flying with fear, While far on their route our drummers I hear,-- Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! [Illustration] [Illustration] THE YEAR OF JUBILEE.