All ye possess before the Lord,
And slain the Spirit of Accord;
Until your stiff will bend and bow,
And every coward scruple fall
Before the bidding: Nought or All!
What you will lose? Your gods abhorr'd,
Your feasts to Mammon and the Lord,
The glittering bonds ye do not loathe,
And all the pillows of your sloth!
What you will gain? A will that's whole,—
A soaring faith, a single soul,
The willingness to lose, that gave
Itself rejoicing to the grave;—
A crown of thorns on every brow;—
That is the wage you're earning now!
The Multitude.
[With a furious cry.]
Betray'd! Betray'd! Deceived! Misled!
Brand.
I say but what I always said!
Several.
You promised us the victor's prize;
And now it turns to sacrifice!
Brand
I promised victory,—and to you
Victory shall indeed be due.
But every man who fights in front
Must perish in the battle's brunt;
If that he dares not, let him lay
His arms down ere the battle-day
The flag's predestined to surrender
That has a timorous defender;
