|Share page||Visit Us On FB|
The sword into the scabbard,
The musket on the wall, The cannon from its blazing- throat,
No more shall hurl the ball; . From wives and babes and sweethearts,
No longer will we roam, For ev'ry gallant soldier boy,
Shall seek his cherished home.
Our battle banners furled away,
No more shall greet the eye, Nor beat of angry drums be heard,
Nor bugle's hostile cry. The blade no more be raised aloft,
In conflict fierce and wild. The bomb shall roll across the sward,
The plaything of a child.
No pale-faced captive then shall stand,
Behind his rusted bars, Nor from the prison window bleak,
Look sadly to the stars; But out amid the woodland's green,
On bounding steed he '11 be,
And proudly from his heart shall rise,
The anthem of the free.
The plow into the furrow then, The fields shall wave with grain,
And smiling children to their schools, All gladly go again.