Classic Poem

Not where the battle red
Covers with fame the dead,—
Not where the trumpet calls
Vengeance for each that falls,—
Not with his comrades dear,
Not there—he fell not there.

He grasps no brother's hand,
He sees no patriot band;
Daring alone the foe
He strikes—then waits the blow,
Counting his life not dear,
His was no heart to fear!

Shout! shout, his deed of glory!
Tell it in song and story;
Tell it where soldiers brave
Rush fearless to their grave;
Tell it—a magic spell
In that great deed shall dwell.

Yes! he hath won a name
Deathless for aye to fame;
Our flag baptized in blood,
Always, as with a flood,
Shall sweep the tyrant band
Whose feet pollule our land.

Then, freemen, raise the cry,
As freemen live or die!
Arm! arm you for the fight!
His banner in your sight;
And this your battle-cry,
“Jackson and victory!”