  By a Lieutenant Colonel in the Continental Army. This mighty Era big with dread alarms, Aloud calls each American to arms. Let ev'ry Breast with martial ardour glow, Nor dread to meet the proud usurping foe. What tho' our bodies feel an earthly chain, Still the free soul, unblemish'd and serene Enjoys a mental Liberty,—a charm, Beyond the power of fate itself to harm. Should vict'ry crown us in the doubtful strife— Eternal honours mark the hero's life. Should Wounds and slaughter be our hapless doom— Unfading laurels deck the Martyr's Tomb: A sure reward awaits his soul on high, On earth his memory shall never die, For when we read the fatal story o'er, One tear shall drop for him who is—no more, Who nobly struggled to support our laws, And bravely fell in freedom's sacred cause. Let virtue fire us to the martial deed; We fight to conquer and we dare to bleed: Witness ye fathers! whose protracted time, Fruitful of story, chronicles the clime. These howling deserts, hospitably tame, Erst snatch'd you martyrs, from the hungry flame; 'Twas Heav'n's own cause, beneath whose shelt'ring power, Ye grew the wonder of this present hour
To shackle Freemen and to rob the brave. The loud mouth'd cannon threaten from afar, Be this our comfort in the storm of war— Who fights, to take our liberty away, Dead-hearted fights, and falls an easy prey. Then, on my brethren to the embattl'd plain, Who shrinks with fear, anticipates a chain. |
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