Foreign soil has felt its impress, right hath planted it to stay, Lordly rulers of the empires never more shall scorn ito sway: Strike your tents, mr "—h forward to your place, None can backward c "d you in the race With nations bound t» feel 'twere best with smiling grace To join in hip, hip,—loud hip, hip hurrah! Three cheers then. Cho.—When you list to the bugles' stirring sound, etc —Minnie Frances Brown.
GUory Hallelujah. (Air, "Battle Hymn of the Republic." Pat's Pick, page 90.) 2 Flati.
|( John Brown 's body lies a mould'ring in the grave:| John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave, His soul is marching on. Chorus— || .'Glory! Glory Hallelujah: || Glory! Glory Hallelujah! His soul goes marching on. John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back, His soul is marching on.—Cho. His pet lambs will meet him on the way, And they'll go marching on. —Cho. They will hang Jeff. Davis on a sour apple tree, As they go marching on. —Cho. Now, three rousing cheers for the Union, As we go marching on. Hip, hip, hip, hip, Hurrah!
