Bring the good old bugle, boys, we'll sing another song, Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along, Sing it as we used to sing it fifty thousand strong, While we were marching through Georgia. Hurrah! hurrah! We bring the jubilee! Hurrah! hurrah! The flag that makes you free! So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea, While we were marching through Georgia. How the darkies shouted when they heard the joyful sound! How the turkeys gobbled which our commissary found! How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground, While we were marching through Georgia. Yes, and there were Union men who wept with joyful tears, When they saw the honored flag they had not seen for years, Hardly could they be restrained from breaking forth in cheers, While we were marching through Georgia. "Sherman's dashing Yankee boys will never reach the coast!" So the saucy rebels said, and 'twas a handsome boast, Had they not forgot, alas! to reckon with the host, While we were marching through Georgia. So we made a thoroughfare for Freedom and her train, Sixty miles in latitude; three hundred to the main; Treason fled before us, for resistance was in vain, While we were marching through Georgia. --_Henry Clay Work._ Among Mr. Work's famous war songs, none have captured so wide an audience, or held their own so well since the war, as _Marching through Georgia_. I think it is the foraging idea, so happily expressed, that, more than anything else except the contagious music which starts the most rheumatic foot to keeping time, has given this song its popular sway. There was something so reckless and romantic in Sherman's cutting loose from his base of supplies and depending on the country through which he marched for food for his army, that the song which expressed this seized the imagination of the people.