'Tis no time to falter now, Cast aside all party strife ; Go! revenge her grievous wrong, Keep her bulwarks safe from harm; By the grave, where sleeps the brave, Rouse! and in your strength go forth. Wake! ye sons of freedom's sires, Pledge your lives, your fortunes, all; Light anew the patriot fires, By your country stand or fall; Live or die what'er may come, Strike! O strike! for manhood's home. ANONYMOUS. E PLURIBUS UNUM. BATTLE OF HANOVER COURT HOUSE, VA., THE harp of the minstrel with melody sings Our Republic of States Into harmony brings them at different dates The science that weighs in her balance the spheres Venus, Neptune and Mars As they drive around the sun their invisible cars Of that system of spheres should but one fly the track, They would all be engulphed in old chaos and night; Let the demon of discord our melody mar, Or treason's red hand rend our Union asunder; Break one string from our harp or extinguish one star, The system's ablaze with its lightning and thunder: Let the discord be hushed, Let the traitors be crushed, Though legion their name and with victory flushed; For aye must our motto stand fronting the sun, E Pluribus Unum, though many, we're one. JOHN PIERPONT. OH LORD OF HOSTS. EVACUATION OF CORINTH, MISS., O LORD of Hosts! Almighty King! From treason's rent, from murder's stain, MISSING. AT THE BATTLE OF FAIR OAKS, VA, MAY 31TH, 1862. THERE'S scarce, within our country's utmost length, To tell of one who answered at Death's call. Here hath the sire departed in his age; Here hath the mother drooped beneath her cares; Brother and sister flitted from the stage; The wife her husband's clammy couch here shares; E'en the sweet babe, whose dimpled cheeks we kissed All have departed from us-all are missed. 'Tis sad to part, to watch the fading cheek, The eye grow languid and the lip turn pale; To list the feeble accents as they speak; To mark the tottering footsteps as they fail; Yet there is something sweet in that caressThe last fond imprint of earth's tenderness. Yet infinitely sorrowful the throe Which wrings the heart with bitt'rest agony, When those who from the fond home threshold go, Are called upon in distant scenes to die ;— No kindly hand to soothe with tender care; Within a cot upon a river's brink Where gathered father, mother, and one son— The pride of their old age--the brightest link That bound them to earth's shores-the only one; And he had heard of wars, and fain must go Upon the battle-field to meet the foe. It was a parting sad to all their hearts, Yet hope upheld them in the darkest hour; They saw the foeman tremble 'neath his arts, And low beneath his threat'ning sabre cower; They saw him victor 'mid war's din and wrack, Then proudly hailed their valiant hero back. But mark the contrast. On the wood's outskirt And soft and careful is each footstep's tread; The foe are gathered in yon dark, dense wood, Watching and thirsting for the country's blood. Mark where our hero leans against yon tree :— Upon his frame begin to tell their tale; At break of day the pickets are withdrawn, |