Classic Poem

Loyal hearts, the century through,
Back to you our blessings turn;
Veins within us filled by you
Yet with righteous ardor burn!

Down the years hot truth has run
Purest in your earthen mould—
Bunker Hill and Lexington
Leave us models from of old.

We who till the fervent West—
How ye would have loved the land!—
Feel the fire of your unrest
By the breath of danger fanned.

Not diminished, farmer sires,
Runs our yet-indignant blood—
Waked to sympathetic fires
And more watchful hardihood.

'T is a stealthier alien we
Fight upon our father's soil—
And his flaming livery
Is the red-and-gold of spoil.

Hearts triumphant, Minute-men,
Listen in your yielding graves!
Farmers, rise to fight again
Where the alien's banner waves!