Our star-spangled flag shall not trail in the dust; If I prize not your honor as more than your life!” Still further to try her, I took from its place "For your gift, many thanks! Tie it to your waist'! I have seen the same colors much more to my taste In a different shape." Oh, her scorn, her surprise! Oh, the lightnings that glowed in her beautiful eyes! And after the lightnings flashed, torrents of rain, And her voice smote my heart silver-sharp with pain. "O traitor!" she cried, "may the Father above Cast you out from His peace as I do from my love; "May the land you desert never yield you a grave, "Nay, listen dear love, to my plea," I replied, "But the mouth that touched mine just a moment ago, These little soft hands that are colder than snow; These eyes, rayed like stars, my kisses have pressed, Are the red, white and blue in the shape Ilove best." Oh! dearer than life is the badge that I wear, Except thro' my heart, the red soil where it grows. God bless our dear country, and save her from spoil, J. S. HUNT. A BATTLE HYMN FOR MIDSUMMER. FIGHT AT SPRINGFIELD, MO, OCTOBER 25TH, '61. KING of the sword and shield, Look through the battle smoke, God who of yore hast broke The red ranks of Wrong. Deeds crown our prayers with might; Victory he leads: War is His awful form, Vengeance in our blood made warm, 'Gainst God in battle's storm Men are but reeds. Close up your silent ranks, Ransomed nations crown with thanks Here is the gleaming steel, Here is the cannon's peal, Foes reel from those who kneel; One thought for home and land, May peace with laurels bind, Charge with a line of fire! Charge to the sounding lyre Hands red with blood are white In Duty's holy light; God is the patriot's might, God of our father's fame, Save sons by battle flamę From Freedom's night; One flag o'er Fatherland; God speed the right! REV. N. N. CHAMBERLAIN. THE VOLUNTEER'S RETURN. AFTER THE BATTLE OF WOODBURY, KY., OCTOBER 29TH, '61. SWEET home! Young father, wert thou here, Thank God that hope yet fills thy heart, Well may thy mother cherish thee, Sweet baby-boy, whose infant prattle And, numbering o'er thy childish charms, Next June will surely see him here, And will he be a jot less dear, If worn, and maimed, and gashed with scars? Ah, no! though lopped and bruised his frame, Our tears of joy will blind our eyes, If they but leave his heart the same, EDWARD WILLIS. OMNIBUS AND COUPE. ATTACK ON MORGANTOWN, KY. We were school-fellows once, Madame! When we talked of the future we twain were one, Of Friendship that never was bought nor sold, You married, I hear, a millionaire, Your house is fine and your jewels are rare; You lounge through concerts or float through balls. To hold your fan is a precious boon; And it seems as if Nature was half unkind That it does not perfume the very wind |