I see the dawn of glory grander still,
When hand in hand upon this battle-field
The blue-eyed maidens of the Merrimac
With dewy roses from the Granite Hills,
And dark-eyed daughters from the land of palms
With orange-blossoms from the broad St. Johns,
In solemn concert singing as they go,
Shall strew the graves of these fraternal dead.
The day of triumph comes, O blood-stained Flag!
Washed clean and lustrous in the morning light
Of a new era, thou shalt float again
In more than pristine glory o'er the land
Peace-blest and re-united. On the seas
Thou shalt be honored to the farthest isle.
The oppressed of foreign lands shall flock the shores
To look upon and bless thee. Mothers shall lift
Their infants to behold thee as a star
New-born in heaven to light the darksome world.
The children weeping round the desolate,
Sore-stricken mother in the saddened home
Whereto the father shall no more return,
In future years will proudly boast the blood
Of him who bravely fell defending thee.
And these misguided brothers who would tear
Thy starry field asunder and would trail
Their own proud flag and history in the dust,
Ere many years will bless thee, dear old Flag,
That thou didst triumph even over them.
Aye, even they with proudly swelling hearts
Will see the glory thou shalt shortly wear,
And new-born stars swing in upon thy field
In lustrous clusters. Come, O glorious day
Of Freedom crowned with Peace. God's will be done!
God's will is peace on earth—good-will to men.
The chains all broken and the bond all free,
O may this nation learn to war no more;
Yea, into plow-shares may these brothers beat
Their swords and into pruning-hooks their spears,
Clasp hands again, and plant these battle-fields
With golden corn and purple-clustered vines,
And side by side re-build the broken walls—
Joined and cemented as one solid stone
With patriot-love and Christ's sweet charity.
FOOTNOTES
African slavery.
NEW-YEARS ADDRESS—JANUARY 1, 1866
[Written for the St. Paul Pioneer.]
Good morning—good morning—a happy new year!
We greet you, kind friends of the old Pioneer;
Hope your coffee is good and your steak is well done,
And you're happy as clams in the sand and the sun.
The old year's a shadow—a shade of the past;
It is gone with its toils and its triumphs so vast—
With its joys and its tears—with its pleasure and pain—
With its shouts of the brave and its heaps of the slain—
Gone—and it cometh—no, never again.
And as we look forth on the future so fair
Let us brush from the picture the visage of care;
The error, the folly, the frown and the tear—
Drop them all at the grave of the silent old year.
Has the heart been oppressed with a burden of woe?
Has the spirit been cowed by a merciless blow?
Has the tongue of the brave or the voice of the fair
Prayed to God and received no response to its prayer?
Look up!—'twas a shadow—the morning is here:
A Happy New Year!—O, a Happy New Year!
Yet stay for a moment. We cannot forget
The fields where the true and the traitor have met;
When the old year came in we were trembling with fear
Lest Freedom should fall in her glorious career;
And the roar of the conflict was loud o'er the land
Where the traitor-flag waved in a rebel's red hand;
But the God of the Just led the hosts of the Free,
And Victory marched from the north to the sea.
Behold—where the conflict was doubtful and dire—
There—on house-top and hill-top, on fortress and spire—
The Old Banner waves again higher and prouder,
Though torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder.
God bless the brave soldiers that followed that flag
Through river and swamp, over mountain and crag—
On the wild charge triumphant—the sullen retreat—
On fields spread with victory or piled with defeat;
God bless their true hearts for they stood like a wall,
And saved us our Country and saved us our all.
But many a mother and many a daughter
Weep, alas, o'er the brave that went down in the slaughter.
Pile the monuments high—not on hill-top and plain—
To the glorious sons 'neath the old banner slain—
But over the land from the sea to the sea—
Pile their monuments high in the hearts of the Free.
Heaven bless the brave souls that are spared to return
Where the "lamp in the window" ceased never to burn—
Where the vacant chair stood at the desolate hearth
Since the son shouldered arms or the father went forth.
"Peace!—Peace!"—was the shout;—at the jubilant word
Wives and mothers went down on their knees to the Lord!