Up Gettysburg Pike

Thee march to smite thy demons
On mein pastures und cornfields
While we pray, stooped in our cellars.
Against thy hate, I do not yield.
Not to rage and not to thunder.
Thee cast thine lives asunder.
T'is folly, fury, fatal blunder,
Heralded heroes, six feet under.
Thou bargains with the Devil in
Contests of cruelty: callous conceit!
Ancient tales thee revel in
Ring hollow to me as defeat.
Thee dragged thine cannon to Antietam,
Sang thy "Battle Cry of Freedom,"
Dug thine entrenchment ditch und leaped in.
As thou soweth shalt thou now reap them.
Take then mein land, procure its bounty,
Conscript mein neighbors all around me.
Take up arms, thy fates be sealed.
Thou dwells in Hell! I do not yield!
I do not worship gods of war.
I will not bathe in the blood of brothers.
I bow mein head in prayer, O Lord,
To mein Saviour und no others.
So "a coward" thee might brand me.
Hang me from a thorny tree.
But that sword that thee would hand me
Is a plowshare left to me.

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