His serried ranks shall reel before And ye who breast the mountain storm By grassy steep or highland lake, Come, for the land ye love, to form A bulwark that no foe can break. And ye, whose homes are by her grand Have swelled them over bank and bourn, And ye who throng, beside the deep, On his long murmuring marge of sand, Few, few were they whose swords, of old, But we are many, we who hold The grim resolve to guard it well. That Might and Right move hand in hand, W. C. Bryan CCCXXIII. NOT YET. COUNTRY, marvel of the earth! And we who wear thy glorious name, Forth goes the battle-cry, and lo! And they who founded, in our land, Knit they the gentle ties which long Our humming marts, our iron ways, Our wind-tossed woods on mountain crest, The hoarse Atlantic, with his bays, The calm, broad Ocean of the West, And Mississippi's torrent flow, And loud Niagara, answer, No! Not yet the hour is nigh, when they For now, behold the arm that gave That mighty arm which none can stay - Writes, in men's sight, the answer, No! - W. C. Bryant CCCXXIV. THE AMERICAN FLAG. AT last, at last, each glowing star In that pure field of heavenly blue, On every people shining far, Burns, to its utmost promise true. Hopes in our fathers' hearts that stirred, At last, at last, your day has dawned. Your day has dawned, but many an hour Of storm and cloud, of doubt and tears, Across the eternal sky must lower, Before the glorious noon appears. And not for us that noontide glow: Our children shall that glory see. At last, at last, O Stars and Stripes! Touched in your birth by Freedom's flame, Out from our history its shame. Stand to your faith, America! Sad Europe listen to our call! That gracious flag floats over all. And when the hour seems dark with doom, Pure as its white the future see! G. W. Curtis. CCCXXV. AM I FOR PEACE? YES. FOR the peace which rings out from the cannons' throat, And the suasion of shot and shell, Till Rebellion's spirit is trampled down To the depths of its kindred hell. For the peace which shall follow the squadron's tramp, And, drunk with the fury of storm and strife, The blood-red chargers neigh. For the peace which shall wash out the leprous stain Of our slavery foul and grim, And shall sunder the fetters which creak and clank On the down-trodden dark man's limb. I will curse him as traitor, and false of heart, Out! out of the way! with your spurious peace, Out! out of the way! with your knavish schemes! Crouch away in the dark, like a sneaking hound You would barter the fruit of our fathers' blood, To purchase a place with Rebellion's votes, By the widow's wail, by the mother's tears, |