"What! brothers and countrymen! mean you to part,
With a curse on each lip, and revenge in each heart?
What! fly from a government simple, but grand,
Your future to build on foundations of sand?
No! Stop, while 'tis time, oh ye men of the South,
Let us have for our country one heart and one mouth,
And, brothers once more in the land we adore,
We'll shout 'For The Union Forever! Hurrah!'
"Then let enemies thicken; we'll never despair,
Where unity is—behold victory there!
Disunite—in the ruins of home you will lie,
In Union you conquer—without it, you die.
Oh then, let it come from the North and the South:
'We have but one country, one heart, and one mouth.
For the freedom we love, for the land we adore,
For the Union, and Abraham Lincoln—Hurrah!'"
By the time Johnny had finished, a dozen more lads and some gentlemen had gathered round to listen. The little fellow's color mounted high, but he went on with admirable emphasis and animation to the end; and then let me tell you that, when he uttered the last "Hurrah," the boys snatched their hats off, and joined in with such a will, that the stunted old trees in the Park cracked again! and if it was not a very immense mass meeting, it was a highly respectable one, and perfectly unanimous.
"That was splendid!" said the bright boy, who had advised the President to proclaim universal freedom. "I love Aunt Fanny's daughter for writing it; and you may tell her so. I wonder if she wrote the beautiful little poem mother read to me the other day from the Rebellion Record. It set her crying; and I had hard work, I can tell you, to keep my face from puckering up."
"Oh, can you remember it?" asked some of the boys. "Do try."
"Yes; I learned it, only reading it twice after mother had read it to me. I don't know as you will like it as much as I did; but I've got a little brother, who says just such things the whole time." "Why, so have we," cried Johnny, "lots of them! so come let's hear it."
The little fellow put his finger on his lip, to think for a moment, and then began in a low voice; all the boys crowding round so as not to lose a word.
"Willie stood at the window—
Little Willie, five years old—
Watching the rainbow colors,
Fading in sunset's gold,
Red pennants, and streamers of fire,
On the blue expanse unfurl;
And over the red the white clouds lie,
Like floating mists of pearl.
"'Isn't it beautiful, mamma?'
And the dark eyes grow so bright,
They almost seem to catch the gold
Of the sky's wild glory light.
'See! There is the red, mamma,
And there is the beautiful blue;
Did God make the blue and red?
Did He make the white clouds too?
"'And away up in the sky,
Oh! see the little bright star!
Why! God is for the Union?
Isn't He, mamma?'"
"What a dear little fellow he was," cried Johnny. "Yes, God is for the Union. Why can't everybody see it?"