Classic Poem

It broke on the hush of morn, —
It startled the dull midnight,
Like the stirring peal of a battle horn,
It summoned them forth to fight:
It rose o'er the swelling hill,
By the meadows green it was heard,
Calling out for the strength of the freeman's will,
And the might of the freeman's sword!

The rivers heard the noise, —
The valleys rung it out;
And every heart leaped high at the voice
Of that thrilling battle-shout!
They sprang from the bridal bed,
From the pallet of labor's rest;
And they hurried away to the field of the dead,
Like a tardy marriage-guest.

They left the plough in the corn, —
They left the steer in the yoke;
And away from mother and child, that morn,
And the maiden's first kiss they broke!
In the shower of the deadly shot,
In the lurid van of the war,
Sternly they stood, but they answered not
To the hireling's wild hurrah.

But still as the brooding storm,
Ere it lashes ocean' to foam,
The strength of the free was in every arm,
And every heart on its home.
Of their pleasant homes they thought, —
They prayed to their father's God. —
And forward they went till their dear blood bought
The broad free land they trod!