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| NEW ENGLAND’S dead! New England’s dead! | |
| On every hill they lie; | |
| On every field of strife, made red | |
| By bloody victory. | |
| Each valley, where the battle poured | 5 |
| Its red and awful tide, | |
| Beheld the brave New England sword | |
| With slaughter deeply dyed. | |
| Their bones are on the northern hill, | |
| And on the southern plain, | 10 |
| By brook and river, lake and rill, | |
| And by the roaring main. | |
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| The land is holy where they fought, | |
| And holy where they fell; | |
| For by their blood that land was bought, | 15 |
| The land they loved so well. | |
| Then glory to that valiant band, | |
| The honored saviours of the land! | |
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| O, few and weak their numbers were,— | |
| A handful of brave men; | 20 |
| But to their God they gave their prayer, | |
| And rushed to battle then. | |
| The God of battles heard their cry, | |
| And sent to them the victory. | |
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| They left the ploughshare in the mould, | 25 |
| Their flocks and herds without a fold, | |
| The sickle in the unshorn grain, | |
| The corn, half-garnered, on the plain, | |
| And mustered, in their simple dress, | |
| For wrongs to seek a stern redress, | 30 |
| To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe, | |
| To perish, or o’ercome their foe. | |
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| And where are ye, O fearless men? | |
| And where are ye to-day? | |
| I call:—the hills reply again | 35 |
| That ye have passed away; | |
| That on old Bunker’s lonely height, | |
| In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground, | |
| The grass grows green, the harvest bright | |
| Above each soldier’s mound. | 40 |
| The bugle’s wild and warlike blast | |
| Shall muster them no more; | |
| An army now might thunder past, | |
| And they heed not its roar. | |
| The starry flag, ’neath which they fought | 45 |
| In many a bloody day, | |
| From their old graves shall rouse them not, | |
| For they have passed away. | |
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