Ambition soon the ashen fruit shall taste, Of impious wrongs which spring from reckless pride, While Freedom's morn shall light the desert-waste Of minds, which, long in night, the day denied. For in this struggle, fierce and long, God is with us, and we are strong— To Him alone the glory. He calls us now to vict'ry on to press, Nor doubt the morning star which lights the way— His voice is heard in every patriot's breast, "Awake! the night is spent; behold the day!" Us shall He show, e'en in death's night, The golden glow of Freedom's dawning light. To Him, our country's God, the glory. T. H. KORNER. THE SILENT ANVIL. AFTER THE BATTLE OF SOMERSVILLE, VA. I CREPT in the lane at midnight- A stagnant calm in the world below, I crept to the door of the smithy, And peered through the heavy gloom― And silent the anvil's boom; And I thought how the early morning, And I pictured their wandering glances, When they missed the smith at the anvil-block, And the hum of the flame in the chimney cold, And the pondrous bellow's sway. And I thought how the herdsmen round about Would miss, from the evening sky, The distant clank of the forgeman's blow, The light and the crimson dye That blazed and burned from the blackened flume, Like a beacon raised on high. And I said: "O forgeman stout of limb, Of muscle firm and true, No more shall your sledges shape the plow, There is heavier work for heart and hand- "For, with storms and battle the air is filled, And crash on crash, from the cannon's mouth, And the arts of peace are crushed and ground 'Neath Havoc's iron heel." JEREMY BLANC. GOD'S BLESSINGS ON THEM, CAPTURE OF FORTS HATTERAS AND CLARK, N. C. God bless the brave ones! in our dearth, All savior-souls have sacrificed, With nought but noble faith for guerdon, And ere the world hath crowned the Christ, The man to death hath borne the burden! The savage broke the glass that brought That makes our visions starrier regioned. They lay their corner stones in dark, Deep waters, who uphold in beauty, On earths old heart their triumphs are, That crown with glory lives of duty.' And meekly still the martyrs go To keep with pain their solemn bridal! The heart! the rude dust, dark to-day, GERALD MASSEY. THE WHETTING OF THE SCYTHES. ATTACK ON LEXINGTON, MO. THE dew laughs on the blossom'd grass, And over all the soft winds pass All fresh from Night's cool bow'rs, While sharp and clear, upon the ear, Across the field, we list to hear The whetting of the scythes! The laugh and song may float along, Where the belles and beaux in joyous throng The cup of pleasure sip But let me hear upon the air A sweeter sound, more full of cheer— Now, soldiers, mow the rebels down With blades of tempered steelMake, make our Union's power known, Let them its vengeance feel Then home once more from tented plain, You'll haste to hear in peace again The whetting of the scythes! ANONYMOUS. MY MINIE RIFLE. AT THE FIGHT AT BALL'S CROSS ROADS, va AUGUST 30TH, '61. THE finest friend I ever knew, And one with whom I dare not trifle, She gently rests upon my arm, To show she can be killing. And she is very fair to see, The most fastidious fancy suiting; Though used to many a firey spark, The heaviest load seems not to weigh ANONYMOUS. |