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Col. Wm. Travis.

Hark ye! how close the foe is now at hand,
Full many thousands 'gainst our little band.
So nerve your strength, let every sinew swell
To be a man, and let your bayonets tell,
Your swords, your muskets and your Bowie-knives,
How dearly ye have sold your precious lives.
Where none is witness to your gallantry.
There let the enemy's crippled numbers be
Its speaking proof and herald.

[Here the morning-sun suddenly bursts forth from behind a bank of dark clouds.]

[Enthusiastically] But behold!

<poem>God's hand has oped Heaven's radiant gate of gold, Where clad in robes of white the heroes stand Of every nation, every age and land. To welcome you into their marble-dome. To bid you make its gorgeous hall your home, And by their hands to lead you to the seat Of honor. Hence your future mates to greet, Intune once more your "Hymn of Liberty," And on the pinions of its melody Let joyfully your souls to Heaven ascend. There to abide in glory without end. Rise, hero-brethren, rise! your last breath be: "For Texas and her Liberty!"

[All rise. At this juncture the band of the enemy whose