Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/37

 Arise! though the stars have a rugged glare,
 * And the moon has a wrath-blurred crown—

Brothers! a blessing is ambushed there
 * In the cliffs of the Father’s frown;

Arise! ye are worthy the wondrous light
 * Which the Sun of Justice gives—

In the caves and sepulchres of night
 * Jehovah the Lord King lives!
 * To arms! to arms! for the South needs help,
 * And a craven is he who flees—
 * For ye have the sword of the Lion’s Whelp,
 * And the God of the Maccabees!

Think of the dead by the Tennessee
 * In their frozen shrouds of gore—

Think of the mothers who shall see
 * Those darling eyes no more!

But better are they in a hero-grave
 * Than the serfs of time and breath,

For they are the Children of the Brave,
 * And the Cherubim of Death!
 * To arms! to arms! for the South needs help,
 * And a craven is he who flees—
 * For ye have the sword of the Lion’s Whelp,
 * And the God of the Maccabees!