WEAVE no more silks, ye Lyons looms, <br />To deck our girls for gay delights! <br />The crimson flower of battle blooms, <br />And solemn marches fill the night. <br /> <br />Weave but the flag whose bars to-day <br />Drooped heavy o’er our early dead, <br />And homely garments, coarse and gray, <br />For orphans that must earn their bread! <br /> <br />Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet, <br />That poured delight from other lands! <br />Rouse there the dancer’s restless feet: <br />The trumpet leads our warrior bands. <br /> <br />And ye that wage the war of words <br />With mystic fame and subtle power, <br />Go, chatter to the idle birds, <br />Or teach the lesson of the hour! <br /> <br />Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot <br />Be all your offices combined! <br />Stand close, while Courage draws the lot, <br />The destiny of human kind. <br /> <br />And if that destiny could fail, <br />The sun should darken in the sky, <br />The eternal bloom of Nature pale, <br />And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!<br /><br />Julia Ward Howe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-orders/
