An' God wun't leave us yit to sink or swim, Ef we don't fail to du wut's right by him. This land o' ourn, I tell ye, 's gut to be A better country than man ever see. I feel my sperit swellin' with a cry Thet seems to say, "Break forth an' prophesy!" O strange New World, thet yit wast never young, Whose youth from thee by gripin' need was wrung, Brown foundlin' o' the woods, whose baby-bed Was prowled roun' by the Injuns' cracklin' tread, An' who grew'st strong thru shifts an' wants an' pains, Nussed by stern men with empires in their brains, Who saw in vision their young Ishmel strain With each hard hand a vassal ocean's I put some thoughts thet bothered me in rhyme: I hain't hed time to fairly try 'em on, But here they be—it's JONATHAN TO JOHN. IT don't seem hardly right, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess Thet's fit for you an' me!" Blood ain't so cool as ink, John; Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess He'd b'longed to ole J. B., Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, "Twould kind o' rile J. B., Who made the law thet hurts, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, For ganders with J. B., When your rights was our wrong, John, You didn't stop for fuss, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, "It doesn't foller thet he can swaller Prescriptions signed 'J. B.' We own the ocean, tu, John: You mus'n' take it hard, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, Why talk so dreffle big, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, one Thet's nearest to J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me!” We give the critters back, John, Coz Abra'm thought 'twas right; It warn't your bullyin' clack, John, Provokin' us to fight. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess Ez wal ez you an' me!" We ain't so weak an' poor, John, A school-house an' a steeple. "The surest plan to make a Man Ez much ez you or me!" Our folks believe in Law, John: Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, We know we've gut a cause, John, Ef nowheres else, from you. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess Ez wal ez you an' me!" The South says, " Poor folks down!" John, An' "All men up!" say we,White, yaller, black, an' brown, John: Now which is your idee? Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, du. Why, there's the ole J. B. Shall it be love or hate, John? Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess yet The truth may strike J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me!" God means to make this land, John, Ole Uncle S, sez he, "I guess, sells Wears long, an' thet J. B. May larn like you an' me!" J. R. LOWELL: Mason and Slidell. THE FLAG. THERE'S a flag hangs over my threshold, whose folds are more dear to me Than the blood that thrills in my bosom its earnest of liberty; And dear are the stars it harbors in its sunny field of blue As the hope of a further heaven that lights all our dim lives through. HEROIC. But now should my guests be merry, My wine is not of the choicest, yet I break with no sparing hand; one act must accomplished be: Salute the flag in its virtue, before ye sit down with me. The flag of our stately battles, not struggles of wrath and greed: Its stripes were a holy lesson, its spangles a deathless creed; 'Twas red with the blood of freemen, and white with the fear of the foe, And the stars that fight in their courses 'gainst tyrants its symbols know. Come hither, thou son of my mother! we were reared in the selfsame arms; Thou hast many a pleasant gesture, thy mind hath its gifts and charms, But my heart is as stern to question as mine eyes are of sorrows full: Salute the flag in its virtue, or pass on where others rule. Thou lord of a thousand acres, with heaps of uncounted gold, Fair lady with silken trappings, high waving thy stainless plume, Take down now your flaunting ban- With the terror of death upon him; Pass hence, then, the friends I gath- With the firm smile ready to kindle, When the last true heart lies blood- Bid them loose the flag from its With the glory of home about us, and its freedom locked in our breast. JULIA WARD HOWE, |