We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi's winding stream and from New England's shore.
We leave our plows and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear.
We dare not look behind us but steadfastly before.
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more!
We are coming, we are coming, our Union to restore,
We are coming, Father Abraham, with three hundred thousand more!
We are coming, Father Abraham, with three hundred thousand more!
If you look across the hilltops that meet the northern sky,
Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry;
And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloudy veil aside,
And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride;
And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour,
We are coming, father Abr'am, three hundred thousand more!
We are coming, we are coming, our Union to restore,
We are coming, Father Abraham, with three hundred thousand more!
We are coming, Father Abraham, with three hundred thousand more!