FROM THE GREAT WAR
211
Hosts and hosts and hosts!
Old men, young men, out of the earth they rise,
Defenders, defenders!
With their spirits in their eyes!
The ghosts are not an army
With sword and gleaming gun.
They are riders like the rider
Who rode to Lexington.
Hark! The hoofs in the night,
And the cry. Awake!
What shapes in the dark?
Hark!
Again, Awake!
Ghosts are riding!
What fingers shake
The doors, and rattle
The windows?
Awake!
Battle!
Riders, riders,
On plain and steep!
Awake, oh, ye that sleep!
Awake, Maine!
Stir from your slumber, Alabama!
Awake from dreams of ease,
Glittering coasts!
Awake, Wisconsin!
On your highways
