WE WILL FIGHT AS OF OLD.
THE STONE BLOCKADE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR, S. C.
DECEMBER 21st, '61.
WHEN rebellion first swept, with its pestilent breath,
Through our dear native land, causing terror and death,
We vowed by the martyrs who fought and who fell,
That no foreign assistance its fury should quell.
Let the trumpet and drum sound all over the land,
Let us muster with rifle, with cannon and brand!
And teach those proud nations, far over the sea,
We'll fight as of old for the home of the free !
Oh, shades of our sires! Sacred spirits impart
Strength and courage to nerve each arm and heart!
With a Patriot's zeal, and fidelity true,
To conquer or die for "the red, white and blue.”
The quarrel's our own-we'll adjust it at home;
No false foreign power interfering shall come;
Then never, we swear, while the sun sheds its light,
Shall foreign exaction set our quarrels aright.
Our blades have to often been fleshed to the hilt;
In the forms of our kindred, what blood we have spilt,
In this terrible strife! thus proclaiming to all,
When we fight for the right we conquer or fall.
Sound trumpet and drum all over the land:
Join together in love each true heart and hand-
North and South, East and West, O, God! we implore,
Our glorious Union again to restore.
FIGHT AT NEWPORT NEWS, VA.,
DECEMBER 22nd, '61.
WAVE all your plumes, O lordly Northern pines,
Again to conflict like the north wind's blast;
By all the power that Honor's self defines,
By all the mem'ries of th' historic past.
Onward to meet the foe-again press on!
Hurtling the iron rain, and flashing sword;
On! for your battle-fields by valor won,
Ring out the battle-cry with fierce accord.
On, for the heritage of unborn men,
On, for the ashes of your buried sires; Bid each bright star blaze in its field again,
And warm the martial pulse with patriot fires!
Men of the North! your hands are on the plow! Will ye turn back or lie down in the furrow That ye have made? saying: "Not now, O, not now; But in the golden splendor of to-morrow,
"We'll do such deeds, that tyrants on their thrones Shall thrill with terror, and the grain shall grow To winnowed be ere yet it is high noon,
Upon the earth's threshing floor! But O, not now.
'A little longer; we must bide our time,
He who runs fast, is sure to catch a fall.” Men of the North! Treason is in its prime, And must be crushed to fragments. Know that all
The logic of great minds would fail to gain
One single convert. Traitors are not born,
But spring, full grown, from out some lusty brain,
Armed cap-a-pie, unshaven, and unshorn.
Men of the North, this is no game of chance,
A toss up-e'en or odd-and one must win.
As victors for the Right, we must advance,
Or fold our hands, the waiting chains within.
God to the Rescue! be the battle-cry,
From Maine's pine-forests to the Golden Gate,
While for the star of Promise in our sky,
A stricken people hopeful watch and wait.
THE WAR CHRISTIAN'S THANKSGIVING.
TAMP CELEBRATION OF CHRISTMAS DAY,
OH! God of Battles! once again,
With banner, trump and drum,
And garments in Thy wine press dyed,
To give Thee thanks we come.
No goats or bullocks garlanded,
Unto thy altars go;
With brother's blood, by brothers shed,
Our glad libations flow.
From pest-house and from dungeon foul,
Where maimed and torn they die;
From gory trench and charnel house,
Where heap on heap they lie.
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.
WILL THEY WEEP FOR ME AT HOME.
AT THE BATTLE OF MOUNT SION, MO.,
DECEMBER 28Tн, '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!
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