MEN BEHIND THE GUNS. 



W, H. NELSON. 



We are steering for the harbor, 



And our warships, gray and grim, 

 One by one are steaming onward 



In the tropic dawning dim. 

 Gallantly the flag-ship leading 



Breasts the seaward rolling wave; 

 We are in the path to glory 



Though it lead but to the grave. 



Yonder Starry Banner waves 

 Over laurels, over graves, 

 And where'er its glories fly 

 They must shine on victory. 



Every deck is cleared for battle. 



Every man is in his place, 

 Thoughts of home fill every bosom, 



Flames of battle light each face. 

 Silence broods and but the throbbing 



Of the engines smites the air, 

 O'er the mines the ships are sailing, 



Death is lurking everywhere. 



But the Starry Banner waves 

 O'er these yawning, hidden graves, 

 And where'er its glories fly 

 They shall float o'er victory. 



Hark, the deep-tongued bell of battle 



Tolls. The Clock of Death strikes one! 

 Hear the rending heavens re-echo 



With the answer of our gun. 

 Wild the foeman's shots and harmless, 



Hissing tear the wounded sea, 

 Lo, his works in fragments flying! 



This is Yankee gunnery. 



And the Starry Banner waves 

 O'er the luckless- foemen's graves, 

 Where its sky-born glories fly 

 There is God — with victory. 



Battleships are torn and riven, 



Fort and fortress crumble down, 

 Half-ton shells dismount their cannon, 



At our mercy lies the town. 

 Cardenas and Cienfuegos, 



San Juan and Matanzas bar, 

 Ship and castle all are trophies 



Of the fateful Yankee tar. 



And the Starry Banner waves 

 O'er the conquered Spaniards' graves, 

 Everywhere its splendors fly — 

 Victory and Liberty. 



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