The Twelfth of April

Came the morning of that day,
When the God to whom we pray,
Gave the soul of Henry Clay
To the land;
How we loved him--living, dying!
But his birthday banners flying,
Saw us asking and replying,
Hand to hand.

For we knew that far away,
Round the fort at Charleston bay,
Hung the dark impending fray,
Soon to fall;
And that Sumter's brave defender
Had the summons to surrender:
Seventy loyal hearts and tender--
That was all.