A Citizen

Hark muse do tell t’what m’eyes do grasp,
Whose shoulders broad, whose hands a’clasp,
The sword and shield, for freedom wield,
And life a’pleged; a citizen.
Here no mere man astride our road,
A priest, a king, a man of old.
No subject he, but to the Lord,
He rules himself, by God adored.
Where go ye sir, with shouldered gun?
From mortal duty, you do not run.
For higher purpose you were born,
The im’ge of Christ, His civil form.
The rights of kings of ancient realm,
You watchful gaurd, and take their helm.
And when not tilling country’s loam, a’worship God of hearth and home,
Your blood you’ll spend, and freedom defend, you surely are,
A citizen.