Poems in War Time, vol 3, part 4 | Page 5

freedom all too
well.
The flag that floated from the dome
Flapped menace in the morning
air;
I stood a perilled stranger where
The human broker made his
home.
For crime was virtue: Gown and Sword
And Law their threefold
sanction gave,
And to the quarry of the slave
Went hawking with
our symbol-bird.
On the oppressor's side was power;
And yet I knew that every wrong,

However old, however strong,
But waited God's avenging hour.
I knew that truth would crush the lie,
Somehow, some time, the end
would be;
Yet scarcely dared I hope to see
The triumph with my
mortal eye.

But now I see it! In the sun
A free flag floats from yonder dome,

And at the nation's hearth and home
The justice long delayed is done.
Not as we hoped, in calm of prayer,
The message of deliverance
comes,
But heralded by roll of drums
On waves of battle-troubled
air!
Midst sounds that madden and appall,
The song that Bethlehem's
shepherds knew!
The harp of David melting through
The
demon-agonies of Saul!
Not as we hoped; but what are we?
Above our broken dreams and
plans
God lays, with wiser hand than man's,
The corner-stones of
liberty.
I cavil not with Him: the voice
That freedom's blessed gospel tells

Is sweet to me as silver bells,
Rejoicing! yea, I will rejoice!
Dear friends still toiling in the sun;
Ye dearer ones who, gone before,

Are watching from the eternal shore
The slow work by your hands
begun,
Rejoice with me! The chastening rod
Blossoms with love; the furnace
heat
Grows cool beneath His blessed feet
Whose form is as the Son
of God!
Rejoice! Our Marah's bitter springs
Are sweetened; on our ground of
grief
Rise day by day in strong relief
The prophecies of better
things.
Rejoice in hope! The day and night
Are one with God, and one with
them
Who see by faith the cloudy hem
Of Judgment fringed with
Mercy's light
1862.
THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862.

THE flags of war like storm-birds fly,
The charging trumpets blow;

Yet rolls no thunder in the sky,
No earthquake strives below.
And, calm and patient, Nature keeps
Her ancient promise well,

Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps
The battle's breath of
hell.
And still she walks in golden hours
Through harvest-happy farms,

And still she wears her fruits and flowers
Like jewels on her arms.
What mean the gladness of the plain,
This joy of eve and morn,
The
mirth that shakes the beard of grain
And yellow locks of corn?
Ah! eyes may well be full of tears,
And hearts with hate are hot;

But even-paced come round the years,
And Nature changes not.
She meets with smiles our bitter grief,
With songs our groans of pain;

She mocks with tint of flower and leaf
The war-field's crimson
stain.
Still, in the cannon's pause, we hear
Her sweet thanksgiving-psalm;

Too near to God for doubt or fear,
She shares the eternal calm.
She knows the seed lies safe below
The fires that blast and burn;

For all the tears of blood we sow
She waits the rich return.
She sees with clearer eve than ours
The good of suffering born,--

The hearts that blossom like her flowers,
And ripen like her corn.
Oh, give to us, in times like these,
The vision of her eyes;
And
make her fields and fruited trees
Our golden prophecies
Oh, give to us her finer ear
Above this stormy din,
We too would
hear the bells of cheer
Ring peace and freedom in.
1862.
HYMN,

SUNG AT CHRISTMAS BY THE SCHOLARS OF ST.
HELENA'S ISLAND, S. C.
OH, none in all the world before
Were ever glad as we!
We're free
on Carolina's shore,
We're all at home and free.
Thou Friend and Helper of the poor,
Who suffered for our sake,
To
open every prison door,
And every yoke to break!
Bend low Thy pitying face and mild,
And help us sing and pray;

The hand that blessed the little child,
Upon our foreheads lay.
We hear no more the driver's horn,
No more the whip we fear,
This
holy day that saw Thee born
Was never half so dear.
The very oaks are greener clad,
The waters brighter smile;
Oh,
never shone a day so glad
On sweet St. Helen's Isle.
We praise Thee in our songs to-day,
To Thee in prayer we call,

Make swift the feet and straight the way
Of freedom unto all.
Come once again, O blessed Lord!
Come walking on the sea!
And
let the mainlands hear the word
That sets the islands free!
1863.
THE PROCLAMATION.
President Lincoln's proclamation of emancipation was issued January 1,
1863.
SAINT PATRICK, slave to Milcho of the herds
Of Ballymena,
wakened with these words
"Arise, and flee
Out from the land of
bondage, and be free!"
Glad as a soul in pain, who hears from heaven
The angels singing of
his sins forgiven,
And, wondering, sees
His prison opening to their
golden keys,

He rose a man who laid him down a slave,
Shook from his locks the
ashes of the grave,
And outward trod
Into the glorious liberty of
God.
He cast the symbols of his shame away;
And, passing where the
sleeping Milcho lay,
Though back and limb
Smarted with wrong,
he prayed, "God pardon
him!"
So went he forth; but in God's time he came
To light on Uilline's hills
a