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Thy woman's soul is true and grand ! the battle-field my
home shall be, Until our country '11 proudly stand acknowledged as a nation
free; 'Till then, oh, welcome fields of strife, the victor's shout, the
vanquished cry, Where ebbs the crimson stream of life, where quick and
dead together lie.
'Mid bursting shell and squadron's dash, where broken ranks disorder'd fly,
Where angry cannon's flash on flash paints hell upon the lurid sky,
Where many a brave shall sink to rest, and fondly cherish'd hopes will set,
And blood that warms the manly heart, will dim the glittering bayonet.
When these are past, and victory's sun in undimm'd splendor
lights the skies, And peace, by dauntless valor won, and proudly free our
banner flies, Then to my Western prairie home, with eager haste, each
nerve shall strain, Nor from its hallow'd precincts roam, unless my country call
again.
There unalloy'd shall be our bliss; we'll watch the sun give
morning birth, And, sinking, leave his parting kiss upon the dewy lips of
earth.
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