Classic Poem

Arm for the rescue! Freemen, arm!
Your country calls. Away!
Now leave the pleasant haunts of peace
For war and bloody fray;
Forsake the plough and take the sword,
For now your country needs
Her sons to till with sword and blood,
And plant heroic deeds!
To arms! To arms! Your Country reels
Beneath the tramp of traitor-heels,
And like a mother, calls to you
'Gainst traitor-sons, — calls to the true!

Arm for the rescue! Freemen, arm!
Remember Washington:
Behold! he beckons with his hand,
And bids each freeman's son
Now dare to die to save the land
He gloriously won!
Remember his heroic band,
How well their work was done,
And let not traitor-hands destroy
The glorious harvests of your joy,
Your fathers sowed in fields of blood
When battling in the cause of God.

On to the rescue! Freemen, on!
From Freedom's battle-field
The gathered fruits, in future years,
Shall bread to millions yield:
The poor, oppressed, down-trodden men
Shall eat the bread you give,
And feel their limbs grow strong again;
Dead slaves shall freemen live!
And other lands across the sea,
That look to ours for liberty,
Shall harvests reap that crown the sod
Where freemen battle for their God!