Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1917-10-23
The War-Sonp


| thousands Of lesser artisans in the song.
making trade are straining to produce
the war-song thatll make a killing and
be the one big noise on everybody's lips.
! They don't appear yet to have struck real
pay dirt, and It may be left for some un-
known piker to come along with q fash
inspiration and dim the lamps OF all these
luminaries
That's the way it often goes, and that's
what happened in the Civil War. One of
the songs born Of the early fervor of that
conflict was written by a man who had
only that one lyric to his credit in a
rather long life. and for twenty years
even that little bit of fame appears to
have been denied him.
Louis / Kolb has in his safe, in a cor
ner of his office at Tenth and Dickinson
streets, several autograph documents
bearing upon the authorship of the poem
Three Hundred Thousand More"
James Sloan Gibbons, Of Wilmington
Del, transplanted in New York about
1885, was known as a banker and writer
upon financial subjects We are sure the
him-"The Banks of New York" and "The
Public Debt of the United States'-were
never set to music
Some time in 1852 a poem published
anonymously in the New Yort Evening
Post, in reply to LinColn's call for volun-
teers swept the country 1t is generally
known by the refrain, 1--WE Are Coming
Father Abraham, Three Hundred Thou-
sand Strong" which, we shall see, isn't
exactly correct. Among Mr.. Kolbs manu-
scripts bearing upon the matter is bit
Of copy intended for the composing room
Of the New York Evening Post by the
venerable editor Of that journal. The
note, in the handwriting of William Cul,
len Bryant reads:
The spirited poem entitled Three Hun.
dred Thousand More" which has been
copied into many of our journals both
daily and weekly, as the production Of w,
G. Bryant is not from his pen, b 1t from
that Of James s. Gibbons, of this city.
There's nothing upon this bit of copy
TO show when It was written, but there
is other evidence that Gibbons wasn't
fully acknowledged as the author of the
song until nearly a quarter of a century
atter IL was written.
Another OF the documents is a letter
written by Gibbons to Charles Nordhoff,
Of the Herald, asking him to lend to
the editor of the Century for repro
duction, "the song Father Abra'am,'
which I gave to you at the time of it's
first appearance, i. G., my autograph
copy, as complete; and then follows that
original draft of the song:
THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE
We are coming, Father Abraham, three
hundred thousand more,
From Missssippis winding stream and
from New EnEland's shore;
We leave our ploughs and workshops, our
wives and children dear,
with hearts too full for utterance, with but
a silent tear;
We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly
before
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hun
dred thousand more.
II you look across tho hiltops that meet
the Northern sky,
Long moving lines Of rising dust your vision
may descry;
And now the wind an instant tears the
cloudy veil aside.
And floats alOft our spangled flag, in glory
and in PRIDE
And bayonets in the sunlight g.eam, and
bands brave music pour
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hun.
dred thousand more!
II you look all up our valleys where the
growing harvests shine,
You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast
forming into line;
And children from their mothers knees are
pulling at the weeds,
And learning how to reap and SOW, against
their country's needs
And farewell: group stands weeping at
every cottage door
We are coming, Father Abraham three hun.
dred thousand more!
You have called us and we're coming by
Richmonds bloody tide
To lay us down for freedoms sake our
brothers bones beside;
Or from foul treason's savage grasp TO
wrench the murderous blade,
And in the face of foreign foes its frag.
ments to parade.
Six hundred thousand loyal men and true
have gone before
We are coming Father Abraham, three hun.
dred thousand more!
This man, apparently, succeeded in
writing the big war-song because he
wasn't trying to- History may repeat it.
self in these parlous times
THOMAS ASHE, the irish political
prisoner who recently died in Dublin
as the result of forcible feeding, wrote
just before he died, poem Of four stan
zas evnressing his love for "Roisir T,h,,n