Classic Poem

The trumpet hath rung in the valleys,
The mountains awake to the cry,
And the tread of a host, as it rallies,
Returns in the echo's reply!
For the answer that leaps to the order
That summons the swords of the free,
Is the bayonet's gleam on the border,
The battery's crash by the sea.

Though the fairest and dearest are grieving,
When the feast for the bridal lies spread,
Though the roses that bloom for the living
To-morrow may droop for the dead;
Still the answer that leaps to the order
That summons the souls of the free,
Is the bayonet's gleam on the border,
The battery's crash by the sea.

Where the fiercest of tempests shall rattle,
Where the thickest of foemen shall reel,
Let Georgia go down to the battle,
A phalanx of flame and of steel:
Let the answer that leaps to the order
That summons her sons ever be,
The bayonet's gleam on the border,
The battery's crash by the sea.