Awake, awake! how loud the stormy morning
Calls up to life the nation’s resting round;
Arise, arise! it is the voice of mourning
That breaks our slumber with so wild a sound.

The voice of mourning; listen to its pealing;
That shout of triumph drowns the sigh of woe;
Each tortured heart forgets its wonted feeling,
Each faded cheek resumes its long lost glow.

Our souls are full of gladness; God has given
Our arms to victory, our foes to death;
The crimson ensign waves its sheet in heaven,
The sea-green standard lies in dust beneath.something private to share.