More men?  More Man!  It’s there we fail;
    Weak plans grow weaker yit by lengthenin’: 
  Wut use in addin’ to the tail,
    When it’s the head’s in need o’ strengthenin’? 
  We wanted one thet felt all Chief
    From roots o’ hair to sole o’ stockin’,
  Square-sot with thousan’-ton belief
    In him an’ us, ef earth went rockin’!

  Ole Hick’ry wouldn’t ha’ stood see-saw
    ‘Bout doin’ things till they wuz done with,—­
  He’d smashed the tables o’ the Law
    In time o’ need to load his gun with;
  He couldn’t see but jest one side,—­
    Ef his, ‘twuz God’s, an’ thet wuz plenty;
  An’ so his “Forrards!” multiplied
    An army’s fightin’ weight by twenty.

  But this ‘ere histin’, creak, creak, creak,
    Your cappen’s heart up with a derrick,
  This tryin’ to coax a lightnin’-streak
    Out of a half-discouraged hay-rick,
  This hangin’ on mont’ arter mont’
    Fer one sharp purpose ’mongst the twitter,—­
  I tell ye, it doos kind o’ stunt
    The peth an’ sperit of a critter.

  In six months where’ll the People be,
    Ef leaders look on revolution
  Ez though it wuz a cup o’ tea,—­
    Jest social el’ments in solution? 
  This weighin’ things doos wal enough
    When war cools down, an’ comes to writin’;
  But while it’s makin’, the true stuff
    Is pison-mad, pig-headed fightin’.

  Democ’acy gives every man
    A right to be his own oppressor;
  But a loose Gov’ment ain’t the plan,
    Helpless ez spilled beans on a dresser: 
  I tell ye one thing we might larn
    From them smart critters, the Seceders,—­
  Ef bein’ right’s the fust consarn,
    The ’fore-the-fust ’s cast-iron leaders.

  But ’pears to me I see some signs
    Thet we’re a-goin’ to use our senses: 
  Jeff druv us into these hard lines,
    An’ ough’ to bear his half th’ expenses;
  Slavery’s Secession’s heart an’ will,
    South, North, East, West, where’er you find it,
  An’ ef it drors into War’s mill,
    D’ ye say them thunder-stones sha’n’t grind it?

  D’ ye s’pose, ef Jeff giv him a lick,
    Ole Hick’ry’d tried his head to sof’n
  So ’s ’t wouldn’t hurt thet ebony stick
    Thet’s made our side see stars so of’n? 
  “No!” he’d ha’ thundered, “on your knees,
    An’ own one flag, one road to glory! 
  Soft-heartedness, in times like these,
    Shows sof’ness in the upper story!”

  An’ why should we kick up a muss
    About the Pres’dunt’s proclamation? 
  It ain’t a-goin’ to lib’rate us,
    Ef we don’t like emancipation: 
  The right to be a cussed fool
    Is safe from all devices human,
  It’s common (ez a gin’l rule)
    To every critter born o’ woman.