Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By JohnNeal78 Men of the North
M
There ’s a tumult in your sky;
A troubled glory surging out,
Great shadows hurrying by.
Your quivers—are they spent?
Your arrows in the rust of death,
Your fathers’ bows unbent?
Ye ’re called to from the deep;
Trumpets in every breeze—
Yet there ye lie asleep.
A shout from every wave;
A challenging on every side;
A moan from every grave:
Ships thundering through the air—
Jehovah on the march—
Men of the North, to prayer!
There ’s that before your way,
Above, about you, and below,
Like armies in array.
The changes overhead;
Now hold your breath and hear
The mustering of the dead.
With bright commotion burns,
Thronging with giant shapes,
Banner and spear by turns.
Solemnly and swift,
The moon afraid—stars dropping out—
The very skies adrift;
Our Father—Lord of Love—
With cherubim and seraphim
All gathering above;
As forth to war they go;
The shadow of the Universe,
Upon our haughty foe!