[59]
Has mingled with the mother's broken sigh,
And both have found a God. O death and pain!
Mankind will not advance save ye are nigh:
There needs be loss where'er there is a gain;
The sinful world was ransomed through a Saviour slain!
Enwrapt in sleep, unconscious that when morn
Shall rise from out her curtained couch, and fling
Her gift unto the world, and night forlorn
In shame shall flee her face, and westward wing
Her shadowy way, the waiting dawn will bring
A victory that shall thrill the people's soul:
Shall break in twain the power of England's king,
And write our name upon the nations' scroll--
The weary army rests, lulled by the ocean's roll.
Has mingled with the mother's broken sigh,
And both have found a God. O death and pain!
Mankind will not advance save ye are nigh:
There needs be loss where'er there is a gain;
The sinful world was ransomed through a Saviour slain!
Enwrapt in sleep, unconscious that when morn
Shall rise from out her curtained couch, and fling
Her gift unto the world, and night forlorn
In shame shall flee her face, and westward wing
Her shadowy way, the waiting dawn will bring
A victory that shall thrill the people's soul:
Shall break in twain the power of England's king,
And write our name upon the nations' scroll--
The weary army rests, lulled by the ocean's roll.
Ii.
before Yorktown,------, 1862.
An hundred thousand camp-fires dot the plain,And send afar pale rays of wavering light,
A mimic counterfeit of the vast train
Attending the still chariot-wheels of Night.
A nation's army sleeps in conscious might
Dread war again has visited the land
Where Freedom's sword was first unsheathed for right,
And ruthless Treason, with destroying hand,
Has scattered far and wide the desolating brand.
Yorktown's grim citadel again protects
Our country's foemen — nourished on her breast I
A bridge with but a single arch connects
Ten centuries past, with this; its black piers rest
On tyrants' tombstones in the hoary East--
On monuments which slavery has raised
In our dear land! The tuneful angels cast
Their silent harps away, and stand amazed!
But morning's beams will pierce the gloom: let God be praised.
The lifted finger of prophetic Hope,
Points backward to the hour when, tired and weak,
Our brave though rude forefathers dared to cope
With Europe's mighty power, and sought to break
Oppression's rod; they bled for Freedom's sake.
And now our brethren lie beneath the sod,
And on life's wave floats many a saddening wreck.
Not all in vain has flowed such noble blood.
Let us take heart and trust our righteous cause with God.
C. U. E.
