Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/110
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OUR COUNTRY'S CALL.
Lay down the axe; fling by the spade; Leave in its track the toiling plough;The rifle and the bayonet blade For arms like yours were fitter now;And let the hands that ply the pen Quit the light task, and learn to wieldThe horseman's crooked brand, and rein The charger on the battle field.
Our country calls; away! away! To where the blood-stream blots the green.Strike to defend the gentlest sway That Time in all his course has seen.