Isaac’s sons they’re plowing
Decay to work it under
And even hope allowing
Are meant to be hell’s plunder.
Deftly rows they’re turning,
Deafly gazing blue eyes down.
Two thousand years slow burning,
We churn still more God’s ground.
Edom’s ash cannot see.
Someone; is a char; of ten
Try bees, are you’re a paean?
Dan gat enough tally.
Our fences need mending,
We like to fin’lly finish.
Cudding cows I’m still tending.
Toil their taunts diminish.
What lies beyond his trover,
Like birthrights Edom hates.
The name and place of brothers’
He claims for his estates.
Build and grow forever,
We prefer to plow than fight;
Yet we will stand together,
Securing our King’s right.
See the bongos dancing
The squealing of the fairies
Pink ponies like them prancing
Vile imp rarely varies.
Dominions make us strong,
True blue and star so white;
For fathers to whom belong
By God our valor plight.
March forth to tenor drums
Proclaim “Awake!” proud ye pipes
Quickly form when booms the horn
Charge ye all when shrills the fife.
We craved not this wicked war;
Heaven and hearth, it begins,
Call men to knights, plow to sword,
Rise to conquer hell again.
As a side note, I do not consider this to be a call to literal arms, although I see how it could be considered that. Instead, I consider it a call to keep dominions, hearth and home in good order, and be ready to meet a challenge when it comes with an appropriate response and strategy. One eye on the row, one ear to the ground, and one eye on the horizon. Not sure what to do with the unaccounted for ear.
Like our people have historically done.
-By Matthew A. Bryan and originally published at PURE MABNESS
O I’m a good old rebel, now that’s just what I am. For this “fair land of freedom” I do not care at all. I’m glad I fit against it, I only wish we’d won, And I don’t want no pardon for anything I done.
