The Soldier of the Closet

Not they alone work faithfully who labor
On the dull, dusty thoroughfare of life;
The clerkly pen can vanquish, when the sabre
Is useless in the strife.
In cloistered gloom the quiet man of letters
Launching his thoughts, like arrows from the bow,
Oft strikes the traitor and his base abettors,
Bringing their grandeur low.
Armed with a scroll, the birds of evil omen,
That curse a country, he can scare away,
Or, in the wake of error, marshal foemen
Impatient for the fray.
Scorn not the sons of Song! nor deem them only
Poor, worthless weeds upon the shore of time;
Although they move in walks retired and lonely,
They have their tasks sublime.
When tyrants tread the hill-top and the valley,
Calling the birthright of the brave their own,
Around the tomb of Liberty they rally,
And roll away the stone!