Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/38

 Better the charnels of the West
 * And a hecatomb of lives,

Than the foul invader as a guest,
 * ’Mid your sisters and your wives—

But a spirit lurketh in every maid,
 * Though, brothers, ye should quail,

To sharpen a Judith’s lurid blade,
 * And the livid spike of Jael!
 * 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!

Brothers! I see you tramping by,
 * With the gladiator gaze,

And your shout is the Macedonian cry
 * Of old, heroic days!

March on! with trumpet and with drum,
 * With rifle, pike, and dart,

And die—if even death must come—
 * Upon your country’s heart.
 * 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!