THE CRY OF THE WOMEN.
19
There shall thy name, Oh valorous maid,
In history's pages shrine,
And fame's green chaplet, circle ne'r,
A brighter brow than thine.
In history's pages shrine,
And fame's green chaplet, circle ne'r,
A brighter brow than thine.
THE CRY OF THE WOMEN.
From the misty shores of the ocean,
Where the great salt waves dash in;
From the crowded work-rooms tumult,
Far above its deafening din:
From quiet homes in the valley,
From the city's crowded street,
Comes the cry of a thousand soldiers,
Comes the tramp of a thousand feet.
Where the great salt waves dash in;
From the crowded work-rooms tumult,
Far above its deafening din:
From quiet homes in the valley,
From the city's crowded street,
Comes the cry of a thousand soldiers,
Comes the tramp of a thousand feet.
Muster us in, cry the soldiers,
Give us a leader true,
Who ever with strong endeavor,
Shall be brave to dare and do.
Give us the weapons of honor,
Give us the banner of love,
Let our emblem of battle be,
The eagle subdued by the dove.
Give us a leader true,
Who ever with strong endeavor,
Shall be brave to dare and do.
Give us the weapons of honor,
Give us the banner of love,
Let our emblem of battle be,
The eagle subdued by the dove.
