IV. The great procession came up the street, With firemen uniformed flashily neat; There was Tubbs, the foreman, with voice like five, The happiest, proudest man alive; With a trumpet half as long as a gun, Which he used for the glory of "Number 1;" There was Nubbs, who had climbed a ladder high, And saved a dog that was left to die; There was Cubbs, who had dressed in black and blue The eye of the foreman of Number 2. And each marched on with steady stride, And each had a look of fiery pride; And each glanced slyly round, with a whim That all of the girls were looking at him; And that was the way, With grand display, They marched through the blaze of the glowing day, That gave us-- _Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!_ (With some hot fighting, our fathers would say,) Our glorious Independence! V. The eager orator took the stand, In the cause of our great and happy land; He aired his own political views, He told us all of the latest news: How the Boston folks one night took tea-- Their grounds for steeping it in the sea; What a heap of Britons our fathers did kill, At the little skirmish of Bunker Hill; He put us all in anxious doubt As to how that matter was coming out; And when at last he had fought us through To the bloodless year of '82, 'Twas the fervent hope of every one That he, as well as the war, was done. But he continued to painfully soar For something less than a century more; Until at last he had fairly begun The wars of eighteen-sixty-one; And never rested till 'neath the tree That shadowed the glory of Robert Lee. And then he inquired, with martial frown, "Americans, must we go down?" And as an answer from Heaven were sent, The stand gave way, and down he went. A singer or two beneath him did drop-- A big fat alderman fell atop; And that was the way Our orator lay, Till we fished him out, on the eloquent day, That gave us-- _Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!_ (With a clash of arms, Pat. Henry would say,) Our wordy Independence! VI. The marshal his hungry compatriots led, Where Freedom's viands were thickly spread, With all that man or woman could eat, From crisp to sticky--from sour to sweet. There were chickens that scarce had learned to crow, And veteran roosters of long ago; There was one old turkey, huge and fierce, That was hatched in the days of President Pierce; Of which, at last, with an ominous groan, The parson essayed to swallow a bone; And it took three sinners, plucky and stout, To grapple the evil and bring it out. And still the dinner went merrily on, And James and Lucy and Hannah and John Kept winking their eyes and smacking their lips, And passing the eatables into eclipse. And that was the way The grand array Of victuals vanished on that day, That gave us-- _Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!_ (With some starvation, the records say,) Our well-fed Independence!