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I see the blush upon thy cheek,
Maryland ! For thou wast ever bravely meek,
Maryland ! But lo ! there surges forth a shriek From hill to hill, from creek to creek— Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
Maryland ! My Maryland !
Thou wilt not 3'ield the vandal toll,
Maryland ! Thou wilt not crook to his control,
Maryland ! Better the fire upon tliee roll, Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the soul,
Maryland ! My Maryland !
I hear the distant thunder hum,
Maryland ! The Old Line bugle, fife, and drum,
Maryland ! She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb— Huzzah! she spurns the Northern scum ! She breathes—she burns ! she'll come ! she'll come !
Maryland ! My Maryland ! |
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