Classic Poem

BY FREDERIC W. THOMAS .

Freemen! arise, and keep your vow!
The foe are on our shore,
And we must win our freedom now,
Or yield forevermore.

The share will make a goodly glave —
Then tear it from the plough!
Lingers there here a crouching slave?
Depart, a recreant thou!

Depart, and leave the field to those
Determined to be free,
Who burn to meet their vaunting foes
And strike for liberty.

Why did the pilgrim cross the wave?
Say, was he not your sire?
And shall the liberty he gave
Upon his grave expire?

The stormy wave could not appal;
Nor where the savage trod;
He braved them all, and conquered all,
For freedom and for God.

We fight for fireside and for home,
For heritage, for altar;
And by the God of yon blue dome,
Not one of us shall falter!

We'll guard them though the foeman stood
Like sand-grains on our shore,
And raise our angry battle flood
And whelm the despots o'er.

We've drawn the sword, and shrined the sheath
Upon our fathers' tomb;
And when the foe shall sleep in death,
We'll sheath it o'er their doom.

Firm be your step, steady your file,
Unbroken your array:
The spirits of the blest shall smile,
Upon our deeds to-day.

Unfurl the banner of the free
Amidst the battle's cloud;
Its folds shall wave to Liberty
Or be to us a shroud.

O'er those who fall, the soldier's tear
Exulting shall be shed;
We'll bear them upon honor's bier,
To sleep in honor's bed.

The maiden with her hurried breath
And rapture-beaming eye,
Shall all forget the field of death
To bless the victory.

The child, oh! he will bless his sire,
The mother bless her son,
And God, He will not frown in ire,
When such a field is won.