Our camp fires shone bright on the mountain
That frowned on the river below,
While we stood by our guns in the morning,
And eagerly watched for the foe,
When a rider came out from the darkness
That hung over mountains and tree,
And shouted, “Boys, up and be ready,
For Sherman will march to the sea.”

When cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman
Went up from each valley and glen,
And the bugle re-echoed the music
That came from the lips of the men,
For we knew that the stars on our banner
More bright in their splendor would be,
And that blessings from Northland would greet us
As Sherman marched down to the sea.

Then forward, boys, forward, to battle,
We marched on our wearysome way,
And we strewed the wild hills of Resaca–
God bless those who fell on that day.
Then Kennesaw, dark in its glory,
Frowned down on the flag of the free;
But the East and the West bore our standard
As Sherman marched down to the sea.

Still onward we pressed till our banner
Swept out from Atlanta’s grim walls,
And the blood of the patriot dampened
The soil where traitor’s flag falls.
But we paused not to weep for the fallen
Who slept by each river and tree;
Yet we twined them wreaths of the laurel
As Sherman marched down to the sea.

Proud, proud was our army that morning
That stood by the cypress and pine
When Sherman said, “Boys, you are weary;
This day fair Savannah is thine,”
Then sang we a song for our chieftain
That echoed o’er river and lea,
And the stars on our banner shone brighter
When Sherman marched on to the sea.