We thank Thee for the sabre's gash,
The cannon's havoc wild;

We bless Thee for the widow's tears,
The want that starves her child.

We give Thee praise that Thou hast lit
The torch and fanned the flame;
That lust and rapine hunt their prey,
Kind Father, in Thy name!

That for the songs of idle joy,
False angels sang of yore,

Thou sendest war on earth: ill will
To man forever more!

We know that wisdom, truth and right

To us and ours are given,

That Thou hast clothed us with the wrath To do the work of Heaven.

We know that plains and cities waste,
Are pleasant in Thine eyes;
Thou lovest a hearth stone desolate,
Thou lovest the mourner's cry.

Teach us to hate-as Jesus taught
Fond fools of yore, to love-

Give us Thy vengeance as our own—
Thy pity hide above!

Where'er we tread may deserts spring,

Till none are left to slay,

And when the last red drop is shed,

We'll kneel again and pray.

DARLING.

WILL THEY WEEP FOR ME AT HOME.

AT THE BATTLE OF MOUNT SION, MO.,

DECEMBER 28TH, '61.

WILL they weep for me at home,
When they hear of my sad end?
Oh! perchance they think me well,
With each gay and jovial friend?
Here I lie among the slain,
Dearest friend as well as foe;
Oh! this weary burning pain!
Oh! these painful hours of woe!

Do they wait at home for me,
My sweet wife and children dear,
I shall never see them more-
For my life-blood ebbs out here.
For my country I shall die;
To her cause my life I yield;
Hark! our men have gained the day,
Our Flag alone is on the field.

Farewell, dear beloved wife!
Death is taking me now hence-
Freely now I give my life,

For our Country's loved defence!
Then, success attend our cause;
May we always gain the day,
And each traitor meet his death,
Till the last is swept away!

WALTER WARREN.

THE OLD THIRTEEN.

BATTLE ON PORT ROYAL ISLAND, S. C.,
JANUARY 1ST, '62.

GOD bless the good old thirteen States;
God bless the young ones too;
Who cares for musty birth-day dates-
God bless them, old and new.

The old ones first our freedom gained,
In bloody fight of yore;

The young ones have their right maintained,
As the old ones did before.

No South or North, no East or West,
Twin sisters all they be;

One mother nursed them on her breast,

And that was Liberty.

And may the wretch whose hand shall first The bond that binds them shake,

Be ever among men accursed—

Oh, may

Oh! may

it never break!

that banner wide extend

O'er every land and sea,

Without beginning, without end,

And conquer to set free:

Till Freedom's banner floats alone,

A beacon in the sky,

And man no other lord shall own

But Him who rules on high.

ANONYMOUS.

OUR COMRADE.

DESTRUCTION OF FORT BARRAncas, fla.,
JANUARY 2D, '62.

WHERE tangled boughs of fadeless evergreen,
Their emerald canopy o'er earth out-spread,
Shielding his pale face from the sun's bright sheen,
Our Willie lay, with pale and bloodless mien,
There with the mangled dead.

The wind that through the tangled cedars sighed,
Back from his pallid brow, swept the brown hair,
And kissed his cheek, as oft, bending beside
His couch, his mother kissed her boy, her pride,
And blessed him, sleeping there.

No mother blessed him when his young life fled,

But on the chilly earth his warm blood flowed, And on his couch of death no tears were shedTo his loved ones no farewell words were saidNo parting kiss bestowed.

We laid him there within his narrow gravė,
And heaped the damp earth o'er his lifeless form;
He sleeps beside a comrade true and brave,
Who with his last look saw our banner wave
In the fierce battle-storm.

No more the startling bugle greets his ear;

The rolling drum calls him to come no more, When its loud notes bespeak the foeman near; No more will he the shouts of victory hear— His warfare now is o'er.

ELRINE MAY.

MY COUNTRY-WOMEN.

CAPTURE OF BIG BETHEL, VA.,
JANUARY 3D, '62.

THINK ye to-night of the poor weary soldier
Lying wounded, and bleeding, far, far from his home,
With the dreams of his youth, the hopes of his manhood,
O'ershadowed, and chill'd by the gloom of the tomb.

For his country he left the dear home of his childhood
And wandered afar, over mountain and plain;
The sun's burning rays and the cold dew of evening

Relaxed his strong muscles and fevered his brain.

From the long weary march he rushed into battle
To fight for our freedom-our Nation to save;
The carnage was fearful, and deadly the struggle,
Ere he fell as a warrior, so faithful and brave.

Oh, Sisters! how holy and blessed our mission-
To comfort the hearts that have bled for us all,
To whisper the words of Divine consolation

To soldiers just resting, before their last call,—

To fight the dread battle, where man must surrender To Death, his relentless, unchangeable foe,

No fond arm of mother or sister upholds him,

As he sinks in the anguish of silence and woe.

ANONYMOUS.