From the hour in which the cause of the Union became the cause of liberty, from the hour in which the flag of the Republic became the flag of humanity, from the hour in which the stars and stripes no longer floated over a slave; yea, from the sacred hour of the nation's new birth, that dear old banner never faded from the sky, and the brave boys who bore it never wavered in their onward march to victory....
After a quarter of a century of peace and prosperity, all children of our common country kneel at the altar of a reunited faith. The Blue and Gray lie in eternal slumber side by side. Heroes all, they fell face to face, brother against brother, to expiate a nation's sin. The lonely firesides and the unknown graves, the memory of the loved, the yearning for the lost, the desolated altars and the broken hopes, are past recall. The wings of our weak protests beat in vain against the iron doors of fate. But through the mingled tears that fall alike upon the honored dead of both, the North and South turn hopeful eyes to that new future of prosperity and power, possible only in the shelter of the dear old flag. To the conquerors and the conquered, to the white man and the black, to the master and the slave, Abraham Lincoln was God's providence.
James Russell Lowell
This poetic effusion of Mr. Hosea Biglow was preceded by the Idyl of the Bridge and the Monument, which set forth another side of American feeling at the British words and deeds consequent on the unauthorized capture, by Commodore Wilkes, of the Trent, conveying to England two Confederate Commissioners.
IT DON'T seem hardly right, John,
When both my hands was full,
To stump me to a fight, John—
Your cousin, tu, John Bull!
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
We know it now," sez he,
"The lion's paw is all the law,
Accordin' to J. B.,
Thet's fit for you an' me!"
You wonder why we're hot, John?
Your mark wuz on the guns,
The neutral guns, thet shot, John,
Our brothers an' our sons:
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
There's human blood," sez he,
"By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts,
Though 't may surprise J. B.
More'n it would you an' me."
Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,
On your front-parlor stairs,
Would it jest meet your views, John,
To wait and sue their heirs?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
I only guess," sez he,
"Thet ef Vattel on his toes fell,
'T would kind o' rile J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"
Who made the law thet hurts, John,
Heads I win,—ditto tails?
"J. B." was on his shirts, John,
Onless my memory fails.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
(I'm good at thet)," sez he,
"Thet sauce for goose ain't jest the juice
For ganders with J. B.,
No more than you or me!"
When your rights was our wrongs, John,
You didn't stop for fuss,—
Britanny's trident prongs, John,
Was good 'nough law for us.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
Though physic's good," sez he,
"It doesn't foller that he can swaller
Prescriptions signed 'J. B.,'
Put up by you an' me!"
We own the ocean, tu, John:
You mus'n' take it hard,
If we can't think with you, John,
It's jest your own back-yard.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
If thet's his claim," sez he,
"The fencin'-stuff 'll cost enough
To bust up friend J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"
Why talk so dreffle big, John,
Of honor when it meant
You didn't care a fig, John,
But jest for ten per cent?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
He's like the rest," sez he:
"When all is done, it's number one
Thet's nearest to J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"
We give the critters back, John,
Cos Abram thought 't was right;
It warn't your bullyin' clack, John,
Provokin' us to fight.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
We've a hard row," sez he,
"To hoe jest now; but thet somehow,
May happen to J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"
We ain't so weak an' poor, John,
With twenty million people,
An' close to every door, John,
A school-house an' a steeple.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
It is a fact," sez he,
"The surest plan to make a Man
Is, think him so, J. B.,
Ez much ez you an' me!"
Our folks believe in Law, John;
An' it's for her sake, now,
They've left the ax an' saw, John,
The anvil an' the plough.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
Ef 't warn't for law," sez he,
"There'd be one shindy from here to Indy;
An' thet don't suit J. B.
(When 't ain't twixt you an' me!)"
We know we've got a cause, John,
Thet's honest, just an' true;
We thought 't would win applause, John,
Ef nowheres else, from you.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
His love of right," sez he,
"Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton:
There's nature in J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"
The South says, "Poor folks down!" John,
An' "All men up!" say we,—
White, yaller, black, an' brown, John:
Now which is your idee?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
John preaches wal," sez he;
"But, sermon thru, an' come to du,
Why, there's the old J. B.
A crowdin' you an' me!"
Shall it be love, or hate, John,
It's you thet's to decide;
Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John,
Like all the world's beside?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
Wise men forgive," sez he,
"But not forget; an' some time yet
Thet truth may strike J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an me!"
God means to make this land, John,
Clear thru, from sea to sea,
Believe an' understand, John,
The wuth o' bein' free.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
God's price is high," sez he:
"But nothin' else than wut He sells
Wears long, an' thet J. B.
May larn, like you an' me!"
George Lansing Taylor
NO SLAVE beneath that starry flag,
The emblem of the free!
No fettered hand shall wield the brand
That smites for liberty:
No tramp of servile armies
Shall shame Columbia's shore,
For he who fights for freedom's rights
Is free for evermore!
* * * * *
Go tell the brave of every land,
Where'er that flag has flown—
The tyrant's fear, the patriot's cheer,
Through every clime and zone—
That now no more forever
Its stripes are slavery scars;
No tear-drops stain its azure plain
Nor dim its golden stars.
No slave beneath that grand old flag!
Forever let it fly,
With lightning rolled in every fold,
And flashing victory!
God's blessing breathe around it!
And when all strife is done,
May freedom's light, that knows no night,
Make every star a sun!