I
It was a clear and cool December dawn,
And bright the Sun in all his glory rose
And shed his radiant rays in plenty on
The lovely arm which by our city flows,
And on the hills and dales and distant trees
By Nature robed in early winter mien:
All Labour was awake; the docks and quays
Were all astir and formed a busy scene;
The flag flung to the breeze o’er Citadel
Gave heart to all: last night the sentry cried,
As o’er his beat he trod, that all was well,
And old and young thought but of Christmas-tide.
“Lord God of Hosts,” what is that awful roar
Upon all ears rolls from the Richmond shore;