Wlliam Gilmore Simms
War Poetry of the South >> ''Not Doubtful of Your Fatherland'' >> Page 440

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Page 440

Poetry | Richardson & Company | 1866
Transcription 440

When hands that wield, own hearts of oak :
These, though the wall
Of stone may fall,
Grow stronger with each hostile stroke.
The faith that feels its cause as true,
The virtue to maintain it ;
The soul to brave, the will to do,
These seek the fight, and gain it !
The precious prize
Before your eyes,
The all that life conceives of charm,
Home, freedom, life,
Child, sister, wife,
All rest upon your soul and arm !
And what the foe, the felon race,
That seek your subjugation ?
The scum of Europe, her disgrace,
The lepers of the nation.
And what the spoil
That tempts their toil,
The bait that goads them on to fight ?
Lust, crime, and blood,
Each fiendish mood
That prompts and follows appetite.