Come with the weapons at your call—­
    With musket, pike, or knife;
  He wields the deadliest blade of all
    Who lightest holds his life. 
  The arm that drives its unbought blows
    With all a patriot’s scorn,
  Might brain a tyrant with a rose
    Or stab him with a thorn.

  Does any falter?  Let him turn
    To some brave maiden’s eyes,
  And catch the holy fires that burn
    In those sublunar skies. 
  Oh, could you like your women feel,
    And in their spirit march,
  A day might see your lines of steel
    Beneath the victor’s arch!

  What hope, O God! would not grow warm
    When thoughts like these give cheer? 
  The lily calmly braves the storm,
    And shall the palm-tree fear? 
  No! rather let its branches court
    The rack that sweeps the plain;
  And from the lily’s regal port
    Learn how to breast the strain.

  Ho, woodsmen of the mountain-side! 
    Ho, dwellers in the vales! 
  Ho, ye who by the roaring tide
    Have roughened in the gales! 
  Come, flocking gayly to the fight,
    From forest, hill, and lake;
  We battle for our country’s right,
    And for the lily’s sake!

HENRY TIMROD.

* * * * *

THE NATION’S PRAYER.

[1861].

  I.

  Before Thy Throne we bow: 
  O God, our shield be Thou
    From Treason’s rage! 
  In faith we look to Thee,
  Our strength in Heav’n we see,
  Defender of the free,
  In ev’ry age.

  II.

  Our follies we confess: 
  O God, forgive and bless! 
    Let Mercy’s light
  Illumine this dark hour,
  When war clouds o’er us lower,
  And Thine eternal power
    Defend the right!

  III.

  Our Pilgrim fathers sleep,
  The ocean, broad and deep,
    Beside their graves. 
  When Thine archangel cries,
  Forbid that they should rise
  To crowns in Paradise
    From soil of slaves!

  IV.

  Protect our armies, Lord,
  And when they draw the sword
    In freedom’s name,
  Strike Thou for them the blow,
  Overwhelm the vaunting foe,
  And bury Treason low,
    In deathless shame!

  V.

  Let Liberty arise,
  Her glory fill the skies,
    The world be free! 
  Let all adore Thy name,
  And children lisp Thy fame—­
  Let earth and heav’n proclaim
    The jubilee!

CRAMMOND KENNEDY.

* * * * *

MY MARYLAND.

[1861.]

  The despot’s heel is on thy shore, Maryland! 
  His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland! 
  Avenge the patriotic gore
  That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
  And be the battle queen of yore,
    Maryland, My Maryland!