We ain't so weak an' poor, John, With twenty million people, An' close to every door, John, A school-house an' a steeple. Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess It is a fact," sez he, "The surest plan to make a Man Is, think him so, J. B., Ez much ez you an' me!"
Our folks believe in Law, John; An' it's for her sake, now, They've left the ax an' saw, John, The anvil an' the plough. Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess, Ef 't warn't for law," sez he, "There'd be one shindy from here to Indy; An' thet don't suit J. B. (When 't ain't twixt you an' me!)"
We know we've got a cause, John, Thet's honest, just an' true; We thought 't would win applause, John, Ef nowheres else, from you. Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess His love of right," sez he, "Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton: There's nature in J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me!"
The South says, "_Poor folks down!_" John, An' "_All men up!_" say we,-- White, yaller, black, an' brown, John: Now which is your idee? Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess, John preaches wal," sez he; "But, sermon thru, an' come to _du_, Why, there's the old J. B. A crowdin' you an' me!"
Shall it be love, or hate, John, It's you thet's to decide; Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John, Like all the world's beside? Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess Wise men forgive," sez he, "But not forget; an' some time yet Thet truth may strike J. B., Ez wal ez you an me!"
God means to make this land, John, Clear thru, from sea to sea, Believe an' understand, John, The _wuth_ o' bein' free. Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess, God's price is high," sez he: "But nothin' else than wut He sells Wears long, an' thet J. B. May larn, like you an' me!"
No slave beneath that starry flag, The emblem of the free! No fettered hand shall wield the brand That smites for liberty: No tramp of servile armies Shall shame Columbia's shore, For he who fights for freedom's rights Is free for evermore!
Go tell the brave of every land, Where'er that flag has flown-- The tyrant's fear, the patriot's cheer, Through every clime and zone-- That now no more forever Its stripes are slavery scars; No tear-drops stain its azure plain Nor dim its golden stars.
No slave beneath that grand old flag! Forever let it fly, With lightning rolled in every fold, And flashing victory! God's blessing breathe around it! And when all strife is done, May freedom's light, that knows no night, Make every star a sun!