When the city fluttered in abject fear,

'Neath the mob's rude grasp, who ever thought—

"God! if the Seventh were only here!"

Our drums were heard—the ruffian crew

Grew tired of riot the self-same day—

By chance of course—you don't suppose

They feared the dandies in black and gray!

So we dance and flirt in our listless style

While the waltzes dream in the drill-room arch,

What would we do if the order came,

Sudden and sharp—"Let the Seventh march!"

Why, we'd faint, of course; our cheeks would pale;

Our knees would tremble, our fears—but stay,

That order I think has come ere this

To those holiday troops in black and gray.

"What would we do!" We'd drown our drums

In a storm of cheers, and the drill-room floor

Would ring with rifles. Why, you fools,

We'd do as we've always done before!

Do our duty! Take what comes

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