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Battle of Wilson Greek and Death

of Gen. Isyon

was on the first of August,

That well-remembered day,
When Lyon, with his little band,

From Springfield marched away.

The ditches were all filled

With our country's bitter foes, On the Banks of Wilson Creek,

Where McCulloch did repose.

He'd scoured the country far and wide,

Over prairie, grove and glen;
He'd robbed alike both friend and foe,

For twenty thousand men.

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On the morning of the ninth

Lyon's mind with care was pressed; He thought to slay secession

Before it left the nest.

He studied well his chances,

Ere the rising of the sun,
For the rebs did him outnumber

Full three to every one.

With the stars and stripes afloating

Beneath the azure blue,
They marched in silence to the field,

The loyal, brave and true.

No muffled drum was beating,

The faintest heart to cheer, But 'twas their country loudly called them

To protect the west frontier.

Lyon took the front,

While Sigel took the rear;
The time had come to try the brave,

The loyal volunteer.

To fight for liberty,

Our country and its laws, Or drink the dregs of treason,

Regardless of the flaws.

War's fearful blast they soon must share;

The line was formed, the word was given, The deadly bullets filled the air,

From Totten's Battery driven.

Charge after charge that heroic band

Drove back the rebel host,
Like waves from off the solid strand,

On a stearn and rock-bound coast.

Where the battle raged the fiercest,

And the bullets flew like hail, Lyon's form was in the thickest, —

At sight of him they would not fail.

"His horse is shot!” cried out the aid;

The panting steed lay dying there, While groans and shrieks from wounded men

In wild confusion filled the air.

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