Our time has come
Do you not hear the thunder?
That is not thunder
But the roar of the guns of freedom.
Do you not hear the moan of the wind?
That is not the wind
But the lament of the wounded
Who offer up their lives in the cause of liberty.
When the snows of winter come
Will our troops be clothed and fed
Or will they hunger and yearn
For the warm hearth of home.
When spring follows
Will the faithful heed the bugle call
And march again to face the foe
And brave the sting of musket ball
Or will they shrink from duty
Because we succor them not?
Our destiny lies with those brave souls
Though we lie in beds well made
And drink our fill and know no hunger.
We cannot shirk, we cannot hesitate.
The cries of our brothers echo
Across the fields of America.
The pittance we provide
Is bare enough to sustain the fight.
Will our fortunes lie so content
If the battle is lost?
Will our homes be safe from seizure
When our shores are breached
If we abandon now the hopes
Of those in the field?
What sacred duty can we ever make
Or one that will matter as much?
Our time has come.