Rally Poem by Jerome Brooke

Few against many, betrayed by fate,
Our line stood,
Men covered in robes of burning scarlet,
With crimson hood.

Raiders of the cold, icy North,
Did cry out.
Men of the South heard well, Well their shout.

But soon, soon a sweet song rang out,
Bravely, a song of spring.
In mail of iron, heavy and icy cold,
In defiance, a lad did sing.

Storms dance on high, dark clouds,
Do race away,
Dance of death, men dance merrily,
Gladly today.
Raiders saw men who feared not,
Not the northern spear.
Raiders looked at men who held,
Mere life, not dear.