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From “The Near East”
MAHOMED’S banners dark the sun. | |
| Under the smile of the Christian Hun, | |
| Islam hate hath its work begun. | |
| March, march, Armenia, march! | |
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| Over your thresholds seeps a flood; | 5 |
| Bright are your lintels flecked with blood: | |
| March, march, Armenia, march! | |
| Out at the doors where your first-born males | |
| Dripping sag from the piercing nails, | |
| Sound your reveille with dying wails— | 10 |
| March, march, Armenia, march! | |
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| Lingering woe of the crucified, | |
| Hanging on high like Christ who died: | |
| Time not to weep by your crucified— | |
| March, march, Armenia, march! | 15 |
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| You flaunt no helmets to the skies, | |
| Dulling the red rain from your eyes— | |
| March, march, Armenia, march! | |
| Blinded, grope to the desert wild, | |
| Trampling the head of the slaughtered child; | 20 |
| Over the limbs of the maid defiled, | |
| March, march, Armenia, march! | |
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| Climbing Arahrat’s sacred crest | |
| Where came the Ark of Life to rest, | |
| March, march, Armenia, march! | 25 |
| Sounds the last charge: the trumpets blow; | |
| Waves of steel through your thin ranks flow; | |
| Four thousand feet to the crags below, | |
| March, march, Armenia, march! | |
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| Christ’s arms outstretched no hate can hide— | 30 |
| When Rome slew him, it nailed them wide! | |
| Into the heart of the Crucified, | |
| March, march, Armenia, march! | |
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