[Reprinted, by permission, from the 1910 edition of Randall's poems, copyrighted by Matthew Page Andrews, published by the Whitehall Publishing Co.]

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 yield the Vandal toll,

Maryland!

Thy wilt not crook to his control,

Maryland!

Better the fire upon thee roll,

Better the blade, the shot, the bowl,

Than crucifixion of the soul,

Maryland! My Maryland!

I hear the distant thunder-hum,

Maryland!

The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum,

Maryland!

She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb

1861.

Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum!

She breathes! she burns! she 'll come! she 'll come!

Maryland! My Maryland!

Brothers of free descent were we, and native to the soil,

Knit soul to soul in one great whole, fruit of our fathers' toil;
But when that bond of love was rent, the cry rose near and far,
"To arms! to arms! long live the stripes! we know no 'single star'!"
Chorus-Hurrah! hurrah! for the Union Flag, hurrah!

Hurrah for the Union Flag, that knows no "single star"!

So long as Southern arrogance forbore to touch that flag,
Full many a taunt we meekly bore, and many an idle brag;