Are you sheltered, curled up and content by your world's warm fire? Then I say that your soul is in danger, The sons of the Light, they are down with God in the mire, God in the manger. So rouse from your perilous ease; to your sword and your shield! Your ease is the ease of the cattle! Hark, hark, where the bugles are calling: out to some field— Out to some battle. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |