When Freedom's bugle calls!

No faltering step, no fitful start;
None seeking less than all his part;
One watchward springing from each heart,--
Yet on, and onward still!
The sullen sound of tramp and tread;
Abe Lincoln's flag still overhead;
They followed where the angels led
The way, up San Juan Hill!

And where the life stream ebbs and flows,
And stains the track of trenchant blows
That met no meaner steel,
The bated breath--the battle yell--
The turf in slippery crimson, tell
Where Castile's proudest colors fell
With wounds that never heal!

Where every trooper found a wreath
Of glory for his sabre sheath;
And earned the laurels well;
With feet to field and face to foe,
In lines of battle lying low,
The sable soldiers fell!

And where the black and brawny breast
Gave up its all--life's richest, best,
To find the tomb's eternal rest
A dream of freedom still!