218 WHEN THE GREAT REBELLION'S OVER. Balmy breathed as summer clover; Entered at the open door, While the mother soothed her child, Wistful eyes met mournful eyes, Ah! poor heart, thou 'lt wait in vain Heart, poor heart! too weak to save ; Vain your tears, — your longings vain, - Beat already on his grave! From the flag upon his breast, And wreath of purple clover; With the flag upon his breast, A CHEER FOR THE BRAVE. He shall rank among the blest, 219 A CHEER FOR THE BRAVE. BY CAROLINE A. HOWARD. LIFT up the starred banner, the pride of a nation, Whose bulwarks are hearts firm and true as tried steel; Bear the standard aloft with joyous elation, The serpent is writhing 'neath Liberty's heel! Blest ensign of Freedom, too long has thy glory Been dimmed by the blight of disunion and shame; Too long has rebellion, black-hearted and gory, Ensanguined our land and dishonored our name! Up Freedom! new courage! the struggle is closing! Strike home for the right and forget not the brave, Who, fighting and dying, forever repose in The heart of their country, the soldier's true grave. Be patient, yet rest not, nor fear the dark surges; For our fathers of old were parted the seas; 220 OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. Each wave of our progress the foeman submerges; Then our cause give to God, and our Flag to the breeze. June, 1862. MEN OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. BY JOHN PIERPONT. EN who plough your granite peaks, And for aye of Freedom speaks, Hear your country's call! Swear, each loyal mother's son, Swear "Our Country shall be ONE!" For the land that bore you - Arm! Hark! the hostile horde is nigh! "VICTORY OR DEATH! OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. Sturdy landsmen, hearty tars, There the rebel banner floats! With no traitor at their head, By no hero caught a-bed, While he dreamt of flight; By no "Young Napoleons," Like a whirlwind in its course, Roam, like Satan, " to and fro," 221 222 THE OLD SHIP OF STATE. With the Lord of Hosts we fight, Shall with victory crown Loyal brows, alive or dead ; And in bloody battle tread Talk of "Peace," in hours like this? 'Tis the Old Serpent's latest hiss ! Plant your heel his head upon! Let him squirm! his race is run! O'ER THE OLD SHIP OF STATE. BY DAVID BARKER, OF EXETER, ME. 'ER the dark and gloomy horizon that bounds her, Through the storm and the night and the hell that surrounds her, |