The manliest man of all the race,
Whose heart is open as his face,
Puts forth his hand to help another.
Tis not the blood of kith or kin,
Tis not the color of the skin;
Tis the true heart which beats within
Which makes the man a man and brother.

His words are warm upon his lips,
His heart beats to his finger-tips,
He is a friend and loyal neighbor.
Sweet children kiss him on the way,
And women trust him, for they may,
He owes no debt he cannot pay;
He earns his bread with honest labor.

He lifts the fallen from the ground,
And puts his feet upon the round
Of dreaming Jacob's starry ladder,
Which lifts him higher, day by day,
Toward the bright and heavenly way,
And further from the tempter's sway,
Which stingeth like the angry adder.

He strikes oppression to the dust,
He shares the blows aimed at the just,
He shrinks not from the post of danger.
And in the thickest of the fight
He battles bravely for the right,
For that is mightier than might,
Though cradled in an humble manger.

Hail to the manly man! he comes
Not with the sound of horns and drums,
Though grand as any duke, and grander;
He dawns upon the world, and light
Dispels the dreary gloom of night,
And ills, like bats and owls, take flight;
He's greater than great Alexander.

The thirsty earth, with lips apart,
Looked up where rolled an orb of flame
As though a prayer came from its heart
For rain to come; and lo! it came.
The Indian corn, with silken plume,
And flowers with tiny pitchers filled,
Send up their praise of sweet perfume,
For silver drops the clouds distilled.

The modest grass is fresh and green —
The fountain swells its song again;
An angel's radiant wing is seen
In every cloud that brings us rain.
There is a rainbow in the sky,
It spans the arch where tempests trod;
God wrote it ere the world was dry —
It is the AUTOGRAPH OF GOD.

Up where the heavy thunders rolled,
Where clouds on fire were swept along,
The sun rides in a car of gold,
And soaring larks dissolve in song.
The rills that gush from mountains rude,
Flow trickling to the verdant base —
Just like the tears of gratitude
That often steal adown the face.

Great King of peace, deign now to bless —
The windows of the sky unbar;
Shower down the rain of righteousness,
And wash away the stain of war;
Though we deserve the reeking rod,
Smile from thy throne of light on high —
That we may read the name of God,
In lines of beauty on the sky.

The drummer with his drum
Shouting "Come! heroes, come!
Forward march, nigher, higher!
When the veterans turned pale,
And the bullets fell like hail,
In that hurricane of fire
Beat his drum,
Shouting "Come!
Come! come! come!"
And the fife,
In the strife,
Joined the drum, drum, drum—
And the fifer with his fife and the drummer with his drum,
Were heard above the strife and the bursting of the bomb.
The bursting of the bomb,
Bomb, bomb, bomb.

Clouds of smoke hung like a pall
Over tent and dome and hall;
Hot shot and blazing bomb
Cut down our volunteers
Swept off our engineers;
But the drummer beat his drum,
And he beat
"No retreat!"
With his drum:
Through the fire,
Hotter, nigher,
Throbbed the drum, drum, drum,
In that hurricane of flame and the thunder of the bomb,
Braid the laurel wreath of fame for the hero of the drum!
The hero of the drum,
Drum, drum, drum.

Where the Rappahannock runs,
The sulphur-throated guns,
Poured out iron hail and fire;
But the heroes in the boats
Heeded not the sulphur throats,
For they looked up higher, higher,
While the drum,
Never dumb,
Beat, beat, beat,
Till the oars
Touched the shores,
And the fleet feet, feet,
Of the soldiers on the shore, with the bayonet and gun,
Thought the drum could beat no more, made the dastard rebels run.
The dastard rebels run,
Run, run, run.