For from the hour that the Rebel Stream With the Crescent City lying abeam, Shuddered under our keel, Smit to the heart with self-struck sting, Slavery died in her scorpion-ring And Murder fell on his steel.
’Tis well to do and dare; But ever may grateful prayer Follow, as aye it ought, When the good fight is fought, When the true deed is done. Aloft in heaven’s pure light, (Deep azure crossed on white,) Our fair Church pennant waves O’er a thousand thankful braves, Bareheaded in God’s bright sun.
Lord of mercy and frown, Ruling o’er sea and shore, Send us such scene once more! All in line of battle When the black ships bear down On tyrant fort and town, ’Mid cannon cloud and rattle; And the great guns once more Thunder back the roar Of the traitor walls ashore, And the traitor flags come down.
SHERIDAN’S RIDE.
By THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
