Arm yourselves and be valiant men, and see that we be in readiness against the morning, that ye may fight with these nations that are assembled against us, to destroy us and our sanctuary.
For it is better for us to die in battle than to behold the calamities of our people and our sanctuary. —Maccabees 1.
The Battle Cry of the South
by James Ryder Randall
Brothers! the thunder-cloud is black, And the wail of the South wings forth; Will ye cringe to the hot tornado's rack, And the Vampires of the North? Strike! ye can win a martyr's goal; Strike! with a ruthless hand Strike! with the vengeance of the soul For your bright, beleaguered land! To arms! to arms! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees— For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp,* And the God of the Maccabees!
Arise! though the stars have a rugged glare, And the moon has a wrath-blurred crown Brothers! a blessing is ambushed there In the cliffs of the Father's frown; Arise! ye are worthy the wondrous light Which the Sun of Justice gives In the caves and sepulchres of night Jehovah the Lord King lives! To arms! to arms! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees— For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp, And the God of the Maccabees!
Think of the dead by the Tennessee In their frozen shrouds of gore— Think of the mothers who shall see Those darling eyes no more! But better are they in a hero-grave Than the serfs of time and breath, For they are the Children of the Brave, And the Cherubim of Death! To arms! to arms! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees— For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp, And the God of the Maccabees!
Better the charnels of the West And a hecatomb of lives, Than the foul invader as a guest, 'Mid your sisters and your wives— But a spirit lurketh in every maid, Though, brothers, ye should quail, To sharpen a Judith's lurid blade, And the livid spike of Jael! To arms! to arms! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees— For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp, And the God of the Maccabees!
Brothers! I see you tramping by, With the gladiator gaze, And your shout is the Macedonian cry Of old, heroic days! March on! with trumpet and with drum, With rifle, pike, and dart, And die—if even death must come Upon your country's heart. To arms! to arms! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees— For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp, And the God of the Maccabees!
Brothers! the thunder cloud is black, And the wail of the South wings forth; Will ye cringe to the hot tornado's rack, And the Vampires of the North? Strike! ye can win a martyr's goal, Strike! with a ruthless hand; Strike! with the vengeance of the soul For your bright, beleaguered land! To arms! to arms! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees— For ye have the sword of the Lion's whelp, And the God of the Maccabees!
* The surname of the great Maccabees.
Matthew Page Andrews, M.A., Randall's literary executor, comments in his 1910 collection The Poems of James Ryder Randall that:
It is interesting to compare the appeals on either side of Randall and Whittier to the Scriptures, in accordance with their religious emotions and in expression of their convictions of right. As a rule, Whittier calls upon the Old Testament, as does Holmes, while Randall quotes from the New. This poem is an exception.
The Battle Cry of the South, Maryland, My Maryland and Other Poems, by James Ryder Randall, 1908, Page 32. (PDF)