Of ravaged lands your music falls,
And where the happy homestead stood
The stars look down on roofless halls.
Timrod’s “Christmas, 1863,” shows a South that is sobered, and weary of battle: who with no idea of yielding, nevertheless, yearns for peace.
How grace this hallowed day?
Shall happy bells, from yonder ancient spire,
Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire
Round which the children play?
How could we bear the mirth,