Rare flowers in oasis have birth,
As Sorrow’s deserts verdant grow.
With patriotic, burning zeal,
Thy brilliant genius, tongue and pen,
Were wielded for the common weal,
The good of all thy countrymen.
O’er ruins of the effete Old,
Thou wrought to build a better New,
Whose peerless glories might unfold,
As North and South together grew.