"Hard Cider" And "Log Cabin."
Hard Cider 's the cry, we freemen raise high,
A spell's in the sound we contend;
Raise aloud then your voice, let the nation rejoice —
Depend on "Old Tip of North Bend."
Come let us unite, and the nation set right
In spite of the "Little Magician,"
Discharg'd from his trust, poor Martin he must,
E'en go back to his former condition.
Remember, remember, the ninth of November,
A nation will echo your voice,
Neither spoons of bright gold, nor silk stockings I'm told
Distinguish the man of our choice.
Like the ploughman of old, our Harrison bold,
On his countrymen sounding the tocsin,
Gives up to their tears, persuasion and prayers,
Cider, log-cabin, and coon-skin.
Arouse then, arouse then, all honest and true men,
Base sycophants tremble your voices to hear,
In your votes lies the spell — the "Magician" knows well
No more will award him the President's chair.