Old-Time Fighting Song

(with a debt to Ayn Rand for the last line)

That man whose grasp of spear
Holds not one ounce of fear,
But righteous pounds of right
For hurling into flight
The fact that he is good
To fight the fight he should
Against man’s evil foe—
The lowest of the low;
Oh, may his aim be keen,
And may his throw be seen
To strike between the eyes
The men of hateful lies,
That they may parted be
From all we hear and see,
Then stand up, spirits strong,
You men whose eyes are song,
Whose laughter lights the earth
With solemn, gladdest worth,
Yea, stand you up, I say,
Like shouldering month of May,
When all the hills up high
Thrust buds into the sky,
While storms, they envy not
This flowery, happy lot,
And planets almost dance
To see lost man advance,
For where the hero goes
Ebb back the old-time woes,
As God is set aflame
And faith goes down in shame,
And chains of brotherhood
Are stricken off for good.

Now only this is clear—
I am one shining spear.

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