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They lust for a banquet
That's deathful and dear.
Now, horseman and footman,
Sweep down the hill-side:
They come, like fierce Pharaohs,
To die in their pride!
See, long plume and pennon
Stream gay in the air;
They are given us for slaughter—
Shall God's people spare?
Nay, nay; lop them off—
Friend, father, and son;
All earth is athirst till
The good work be done.
Brace tight every buckler,
And lift high the sword!
For biting must blades be
That fight for the Lord.
Remember, remember,
How Saints' blood was shed,
As free as the rain, and
Homes desolate made!
