Ajan Syrian

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!

Over your thresholds seeps a flood;

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—

March, march, Armenia, march!

Lingering woe of the crucified,

Hanging on high like Christ who died:

Time not to weep by your crucified—

March, march, Armenia, march!

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;

Over the limbs of the maid defiled,

March, march, Armenia, march!

Climbing Arahrat’s sacred crest

Where came the Ark of Life to rest,

March, march, Armenia, march!

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!

Christ’s arms outstretched no hate can hide—

When Rome slew him, it nailed them wide!

Into the heart of the Crucified,

March, march, Armenia, march!