The Coalition and the People

O SUFFERING people, this is not our fight,
Who called a holy crusade for the right.

The Despot's bloody game our tricksters play,
And stake our future, chance by chance, away.

O darkened hearts in desolate home-stead!

O wasted bravery of our mighty dead!

The flower of men fall stricken from behind:

The Knaves and Cowards stab us bound and blind.

With faces turned from Battle, they went forth:

We marcht with ours set stern against the North.

They shuffled lest their feet should rouse the dead:

We went with resurrection in our tread.

They trembled lest the world might come to blows:

We quivered for the tug and mortal close.

They only meant a mild hint for the Czar:

We would have bled him through a sumptuous war.

While they were quenching Freedom's scattered fires,
We kindled memories of heroic Sires.

They'd have this grand old England cringe and pray,
" Don't smite me, Kings; but if you will, you may:"

We'd make her as in those proud times of old,
When Cromwell spoke, and Blake's war -thunders rolled.

They to the passing powers of darkness fawn:

With warrior joy we greet this crimsom Dawn.

To crowned Bloodsuckers they would bind us slaves:

We would be free, or sleep in glorious graves.

State-Spiders, Here or There, weave webs alike;
These hold the victims, while the others strike.
The Dwarfs drag our great Banner in the mire:
We ask for men to bear it high and higher.
O stop their fiddling over War's grim revel,
And pitch them from your shoulders to — the Devil.