Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/212

 They lust for a banquet That's deathful and dear. Now, horseman and footman, Sweep down the hill-side: They come, like fierce Pharaohs, To die in their pride!

See, long plume and pennon Stream gay in the air; They are given us for slaughter— Shall God's people spare? Nay, nay; lop them off— Friend, father, and son; All earth is athirst till The good work be done.

Brace tight every buckler, And lift high the sword! For biting must blades be That fight for the Lord. Remember, remember, How Saints' blood was shed, As free as the rain, and Homes desolate made!