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Kenesaw high-arching,

Nor Allatoona's glen—

Though there the graves lie parching—

Stayed Sherman's miles of men;

From charred Atlanta marching

They launched the sword again.

The columns streamed like rivers

Which in their course agree,

And they streamed until their flashing

Met the flashing of the sea:

It was glorious glad marching,

That marching to the sea.

The brushed the foe before them

(Shall gnats impede the bull?);

Their own good bridges bore them

Over swamps or torrents full,