Gather all our scattered people, Fling the banner out once more,— Randolph Murray! do thou bear it, As it erst was borne before: Never Scottish heart will leave it, When they see their monarch’s gore! XV. “Let them cease that dismal knelling! It is time enough to ring, When the fortress-strength of Scotland Stoops to ruin like its King. Let the bells be kept for warning, Not for terror and alarm: When they next are heard to thunder, Let each man and stripling arm. Bid the women leave their wailing,— Do they think that woeful strain, From the bloody heaps of Flodden Can redeem their dearest slain? Bid them cease, or rather hasten To the churches, every one; There to pray to Mary Mother, And to her anointed Son, That the thunderbolt above us May not fall in ruin yet; That in fire, and blood, and rapine, Scotland’s glory may not set. Let them pray,—for never women Stood in need of such a prayer! England’s yeomen shall not find them Clinging to the altars there. No! if we are doomed to perish, Man and maiden, let us fall: Let a common gulf of ruin Open wide to whelm us all! Never shall the ruthless spoiler Lay his hot insulting hand On the sisters of our heroes While we bear a torch or brand! Up, and rouse ye, then, my brothers,— But when next ye hear the bell Sounding forth the sullen summons That may be our funeral knell, Once more let us meet together, Once more see each other’s face; Then, like men that need not tremble, Go to our appointed place. God, our Father, will not fail us In that last tremendous hour,— If all other bulwarks crumble, HE will be our strength and tower; Though the ramparts rock beneath us, And the walls go crashing down, Though the roar of conflagration Bellow o’er the sinking town; There is yet one place of shelter, Where the foeman cannot come,