 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes |  |
THE COLD WATER ARMY.
Firmly they still have stood,
A true and fearless band,
For the noble cause of human good
Hath nerved each heart and hand.
And they fear not the frowns of earth,
The mocking sneers of men,
For they fight for the sacred home and hearth,
For their trampled rights again.
A true and fearless band,
For the noble cause of human good
Hath nerved each heart and hand.
And they fear not the frowns of earth,
The mocking sneers of men,
For they fight for the sacred home and hearth,
For their trampled rights again.
In their ranks, no longer thin and weak,
Are men of every age,
From the stripling slight, with a beardless cheek,
To the silver-headed sage.
Oh, their hosts would darken the summer sea,
Were their banners all outspread,
And the dens of guilt rock tremblingly
With their firm and heavy tread.
Are men of every age,
From the stripling slight, with a beardless cheek,
To the silver-headed sage.
Oh, their hosts would darken the summer sea,
Were their banners all outspread,
And the dens of guilt rock tremblingly
With their firm and heavy tread.
They come not, an invading band,
With dreams of high renown,
To spoil the homes of our happy land,
And trample her vineyards down;
But to hunt that monster of sin and crime,
Which the slaves of the wine-cup know,
Who tracks his way in a path of slime
O'er the fairest flowers below.
With dreams of high renown,
To spoil the homes of our happy land,
And trample her vineyards down;
But to hunt that monster of sin and crime,
Which the slaves of the wine-cup know,
384
O'er the fairest flowers below.
For undisturbed has he roamed the earth
Till his serpent brood have come
To nest themselves in the very hearth
Of many a once bright home.
Yet, hearing the widow's and orphan's sigh,
And knowing he wounds to kill,
There are those so deaf to a nation's cry
They would shield the monster still.
Till his serpent brood have come
To nest themselves in the very hearth
Of many a once bright home.
Yet, hearing the widow's and orphan's sigh,
And knowing he wounds to kill,
There are those so deaf to a nation's cry
They would shield the monster still.
But our army follows with noiseless tread
Wherever he winds his way,
As, feeling the bruise on his venomed head,
He shrinks from the light of day;
And ne'er on the unsheathed sword and spear
Will their hand relax its grasp,
Till they pause, and lean on their arms, to hear
The sound of his dying gasp.
Wherever he winds his way,
As, feeling the bruise on his venomed head,
He shrinks from the light of day;
And ne'er on the unsheathed sword and spear
Will their hand relax its grasp,
Till they pause, and lean on their arms, to hear
The sound of his dying gasp.
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes | |