The Surrender at Appomattox.

As billows upon billows roll,

On victory victory breaks;

Ere yet seven days from Richmond’s fall

And crowning triumph wakes

The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run

By sea-shore, streams, and lakes.

The hope and great event agree

In the sword that Grant received from Lee.

The warring eagles fold the wing,

But not in Cæsar’s sway;

Not Rome o’ercome by Roman arms we sing,

As on Pharsalia’s day,

But Treason thrown, though a giant grown,

And Freedom’s larger play.

All human tribes glad token see

In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee.