20
THE CRY OF THE WOMEN.
We are old veterans all,
Many the battle we've fought,
In the silence of dreary homes,
In the great dim Palace of Thought.
Marshal us into the field,
Not with sound of trumpet or drum,
Nor with flash of shining sabre,
Nor roar of booming gun.
Many the battle we've fought,
In the silence of dreary homes,
In the great dim Palace of Thought.
Marshal us into the field,
Not with sound of trumpet or drum,
Nor with flash of shining sabre,
Nor roar of booming gun.
Not with plume or epaulet shining;,
Let our leader brave be drest,
But in meek and modest apparel,
That all good women love best.
Though we come with victory ringing,
Her war-cry in our breasts.
We have fought like heroes ever,
We have vanquished greater foes,
Than the epauletted warrior,
On a gory battle field knows.
Let our leader brave be drest,
But in meek and modest apparel,
That all good women love best.
Though we come with victory ringing,
Her war-cry in our breasts.
We have fought like heroes ever,
We have vanquished greater foes,
Than the epauletted warrior,
On a gory battle field knows.
We would not be crowned or sceptred
With gems or glittering gold,
But in place of deathless honor,
Let our names be forever enrolled.
With gems or glittering gold,
But in place of deathless honor,
Let our names be forever enrolled.
