Stand by the Old Flag!
For the Chicago Tribune
Rouse, Patriots! Gird on your armors,
Ye loyal of every degree!
Rouse, merchants, mechanics, and farmers,
Who prize your blood-bought liberty!
The Traitors are stealing your thunder:
A chieftain they've lured from your camp,
And leagued, for the purpose of plunder,
With one of Old Shylock's own stamp.
They have signed a prize in their vision -
A stanch, gallant "Ship," as she rolls
Along with majestic precision,
Midway 'twixt the rocks and the shoals.
But your Vet'rans will let nothing harm her,
From Maine to the Pacific Coast;
With the conquering ballot for armor,
There'll spring an invincible host.
They'll flock to the true Union banner,
For Garfield and Arthur and Right,
In the same loyal spirit and manner
They met the same foes in fight.
And during the ides of November
A shout shall ascend to the sky,
For Treason's last smoldering ember
Shall then be extinguished and die.
The Chicago Tribune, Aug. 28, 1880, page 9
