THE great guns crashing angrily Sound, distant echoes, in our ear. We pray for those beyond the sea Whose lives to us are very dear. We catch a mother's smile. We seize In thought a father's hand again. We see the house and through the trees A girl's face in the window pane. May God above them stretch His hand, For men are mowed as fields of rye. Destruction rides on sea and land Or drops, like thunder, from the sky. Columbia, though thou shed no tear, Shall they fan hate with evil breath Half-witted, scribbling fools who sneer While these our brothers go to death? Upon their page with hellish glee They prance their joy in black and red, While Teutons strike for liberty And Teuton mothers count their dead. While Death and warring Cherubim O'er blood-red fields of battle flit, Upon the shining mail of him Who leads God's hosts, they puke their wit. Shall these that are thy children fling Their gibes upon our brothers' scars? We taught our hearts thy songs to sing, Aye, with our blood we waged thy wars. We fought thy fight when Britain's paw Upon thy country's heart was laid, When the French eagle's iron claw Perturbed great Montezuma's shade. The dry bones of our kinsmen rot In Gettysburg. Was it for this? Are Schurz and Steuben both forgot? Nay, thine is not a traitor's kiss. Let not thy words belie the right, Turn not from them that are thy kin! Thy starry crown will shine less bright If freemen lose, if Cossacks win. The Red Czar's blight shall never fall Upon the earth. nor freedom pale, While the white blade of Parzival Still guards the Teuton's Holy Grail! |