What lofty pennons flaunt?
What mighty echoes haunt,
As of great guns, o'er the main?
Hark to the sound again!
The Congress is all-ataunt!
The Cumberland's manned again!
All the ships and their men
Are in line of battle to-day,--
All at quarters, as when
Their last roll thundered away,--
All at their guns, as then,
For the Fleet salutes to-day.
The armies, have broken camp
On the vast and sunny plain,
The drums are rolling again;
With steady, measured tramp,
They're marching all again.
With alignment firm and solemn,
Once again they form
In mighty square and column,--
But never for charge and storm.
The Old Flag they died under
Floats above them on the shore,
And on the great ships yonder
The ensigns dip once more,--
And once again the thunder
Of the thirty guns and four!
In solid platoons of steel,
Under heaven's triumphal arch,
The long lines break and wheel;
And the word is, "Forward, march!"
The colors ripple o'erhead,
The drums roll up to the sky,
And with martial time and tread
The regiments all pass by,--
The ranks of our faithful Dead,
Meeting their President's eye.
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