WITH rushing winds and gloomy skies The dark and stubborn Winter dies: Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries, Bidding her earliest child arise: March By streams still held in icy snare, On southern hillsides, melting bare, O'er fields that motley colors wear, That summons fills the changeful air: March What though conflicting seasons make Thy days their field, they woo or shake The sleeping lids of Life awake, And hope is stronger for thy sake, March! Then from thy mountains, ribbed with snow, Once more thy rousing bugle blow, And East and West, and to and fro, Announce thy coming to the foe, March! Say to the picket, chilled and numb; Say to the camp's impatient hum; Say to the trumpet and the drum: "Lift up your hearts, I come! I come!" March! Cry to the waiting hosts that stray On sandy seasides, far away, By marshy isle and gleaming bay, Where Southern March is Northern May: March! Announce thyself with welcome noise, Where Glory's victor-eagles poise Above the proud, heroic boys Of Iowa and Illinois: March. Then down the long Potomac's line Shout like a storm on hills of pine, Till ramrods ring and bavonets shine. "Advance! The Chieftain's call is mine, -- MARCH!" |