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186 THE FALL OF VICKSBURG.
THE FALL OF VICKSBURG.
BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE. I.
POWER, Power, Power !" sing ;
Mighty Cotton is the King: Armed with dungeon, lash, and rack, Bleeding subjects at his back, How he laughs their groans to scorn; They for him alone were born — " Cotton 's King ! "
So the brutal despots cried, Storming in their Godless pride ; Honor, mercy, never known, Justice on a shattered throne, And the only chorus — u Might, With his red arm gives the Right — " Cotton's King!"
Hark! there is another cry: How it sweeps a tempest by ! See, a Nation fire-eyed stands, Freedom's Charter in her hands !