What! daring at your post to stand
With listless mien and eye;
No ready weapon in your hand,
No sense of danger nigh!
'Twas yours with zealous care to guard
The avenues of thought,
The subtle blows of sense retard
When the "young child" was sought.
And ye who watch the inner camp
As soldiers come and go;
Are you alert with lighted lamp,
Lest dire offences grow?
