Songs of Many Seasons (1862-74) | Page 6

bugle-blast, sabres are drawn!?Mothers shall pray for you, fathers shall bless you,?Maidens shall weep for you when you are gone!
Never or now! cries the blood of a nation,?Poured on the turf where the red rose should bloom;?Now is the day and the hour of salvation,--?Never or now! peals the trumpet of doom!
Never or now! roars the hoarse-throated cannon?Through the black canopy blotting the skies;?Never or now! flaps the shell-blasted pennon?O'er the deep ooze where the Cumberland lies!
From the foul dens where our brothers are dying,?Aliens and foes in the land of their birth,--?From the rank swamps where our martyrs are lying?Pleading in vain for a handful of earth,--
From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered,?Furrowed and ridged by the battle-field's plough,?Comes the loud summons; too long you have slumbered,?Hear the last Angel-trump,--Never or Now!
1862.
ONE COUNTRY
ONE country! Treason's writhing asp?Struck madly at her girdle's clasp,?And Hatred wrenched with might and main?To rend its welded links in twain,?While Mammon hugged his golden calf?Content to take one broken half,?While thankless churls stood idly by?And heard unmoved a nation's cry!
One country! "Nay,"--the tyrant crew?Shrieked from their dens,--"it shall be two!?Ill bodes to us this monstrous birth,?That scowls on all the thrones of earth,?Too broad yon starry cluster shines,?Too proudly tower the New-World pines,?Tear down the 'banner of the free,'?And cleave their land from sea to sea!"
One country still, though foe and "friend"?Our seamless empire strove to rend;?Safe! safe' though all the fiends of hell?Join the red murderers' battle-yell!?What though the lifted sabres gleam,?The cannons frown by shore and stream,--?The sabres clash, the cannons thrill,?In wild accord, One country still!
One country! in her stress and strain?We heard the breaking of a chain!?Look where the conquering Nation swings?Her iron flail,--its shivered rings!?Forged by the rebels' crimson hand,?That bolt of wrath shall scourge the land?Till Peace proclaims on sea and shore?One Country now and evermore!
1865.
GOD SAVE THE FLAG
WASHED in the blood of the brave and the blooming,?Snatched from the altars of insolent foes,?Burning with star-fires, but never consuming,?Flash its broad ribbons of lily and rose.
Vainly the prophets of Baal would rend it,?Vainly his worshippers pray for its fall;?Thousands have died for it, millions defend it,?Emblem of justice and mercy to all:
Justice that reddens the sky with her terrors,?Mercy that comes with her white-handed train,?Soothing all passions, redeeming all errors,?'Sheathing the sabre and breaking the chain.
Borne on the deluge of old usurpations,?Drifted our Ark o'er the desolate seas,?Bearing the rainbow of hope to the nations,?Torn from the storm-cloud and flung to the breeze!
God bless the Flag and its loyal defenders,?While its broad folds o'er the battle-field wave,?Till the dim star-wreath rekindle its splendors,?Washed from its stains in the blood of the brave!
1865.
HYMN AFTER THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION
GIVER of all that crowns our days,?With grateful hearts we sing thy praise;?Through deep and desert led by Thee,?Our promised land at last we see.
Ruler of Nations, judge our cause!?If we have kept thy holy laws,?The sons of Belial curse in vain?The day that rends the captive's chain.
Thou God of vengeance! Israel's Lord!?Break in their grasp the shield and sword,?And make thy righteous judgments known?Till all thy foes are overthrown!
Then, Father, lay thy healing hand?In mercy on our stricken land;?Lead all its wanderers to the fold,?And be their Shepherd as of old.
So shall one Nation's song ascend?To Thee, our Ruler, Father, Friend,?While Heaven's wide arch resounds again?With Peace on earth, good-will to men!
1865.
HYMN FOR THE FAIR AT CHICAGO
O GOD! in danger's darkest hour,?In battle's deadliest field,?Thy name has been our Nation's tower,?Thy truth her help and shield.
Our lips should fill the air with praise,?Nor pay the debt we owe,?So high above the songs we raise?The floods of mercy flow.
Yet Thou wilt hear the prayer we speak,?The song of praise we sing,--?Thy children, who thine altar seek?Their grateful gifts to bring.
Thine altar is the sufferer's bed,?The home of woe and pain,?The soldier's turfy pillow, red?With battle's crimson rain.
No smoke of burning stains the air,?No incense-clouds arise;?Thy peaceful servants, Lord, prepare?A bloodless sacrifice.
Lo! for our wounded brothers' need,?We bear the wine and oil;?For us they faint, for us they bleed,?For them our gracious toil!
O Father, bless the gifts we bring!?Cause Thou thy face to shine,?Till every nation owns her King,?And all the earth is thine.
1865.
UNDER THE WASHINGTON ELM, CAMBRIDGE
APRIL 27,1861
EIGHTY years have passed, and more,?Since under the brave old tree?Our fathers gathered in arms, and swore?They would follow the sign their banners bore,?And fight till the land was free.
Half of their work was done,?Half is left to do,--?Cambridge, and Concord, and Lexington!?When the battle is fought and won,?What shall be told of you?
Hark!--'t is the south-wind moans,--?Who are the martyrs down??Ah, the marrow was true in your children's bones?That sprinkled with blood the cursed stones?Of the murder-haunted town!
What if the storm-clouds blow??What if the green leaves fall??Better the crashing tempest's throe?Than the army of worms