By George W. Bungay

The drummer with his drum 
Shouting "Come! heroes, come! 
Forward march, nigher, higher! 
When the veterans turned pale, 
And the bullets fell like hail, 
In that hurricane of fire 
	Beat his drum, 
	Shouting "Come! 
	Come! come! come!" 
	And the fife, 
	In the strife, 
	Joined the drum, drum, drum-- 
And the fifer with his fife and the drummer with his drum, 
Were heard above the strife and the bursting of the bomb. 
	The bursting of the bomb, 
	Bomb, bomb, bomb. 

Clouds of smoke hung like a pall 
Over tent and dome and hall; 
Hot shot and blazing bomb 
Cut down our volunteers 
Swept off our engineers; 
But the drummer beat his drum, 
	And he beat 
	"No retreat!" 
	With his drum: 
	Through the fire, 
	Hotter, nigher, 
Throbbed the drum, drum, drum, 
In that hurricane of flame and the thunder of the bomb, 
Braid the laurel wreath of fame for the hero of the drum! 
	The hero of the drum, 
	Drum, drum, drum. 

Where the Rappahannock runs, 
The sulphur-throated guns, 
Poured out iron hail and fire; 
But the heroes in the boats 
Heeded not the sulphur throats, 
For they looked up higher, higher, 
	While the drum, 
	Never dumb, 
	Beat, beat, beat, 
	Till the oars 
	Touched the shores, 
And the fleet feet, feet, 
Of the soldiers on the shore, with the bayonet and gun, 
Thought the drum could beat no more, made the dastard rebels run. 
	The dastard rebels run, 
	Run, run, run. 

Soldier Life