Native land, my native land!
Columbia from her grave will start,
Murder’d land, my murder’d land!
Thy flag is like a sword of fire,
I’ll fly, I’ll fly its vengeful ire;
Beneath its stroke its foes expire,
Native land, my native land.
From Harper’s Weekly, also reprinted in Poetry of the Civil War, selected by R. G. White. New York, 1866.
A Liberal Lyric.
There’s a crisis coming on,