BY JOSEPH BLYTHE ALSTON.[22]

“Stack arms!” I’ve gladly heard the cry,
When, weary with the dusty tread
Of marching troops, as night grew nigh,
And sank upon my soldier bed,
And calmly slept; the starry dome
Of heaven’s blue arch my canopy,
And mingled with my dreams of home,
The thoughts of Peace and Liberty.
“Stack arms!” I’ve heard it, when the shout,
Exulting, rang along our line,
Of foes hurled back in bloody rout,
Captured, dispersed; its tones divine
Then came to mine enraptured ear,
Guerdon of duty nobly done,
And glistened on my cheek the tear
Of grateful joy for victory won.
“Stack arms!” In faltering accents, slow
And sad, it creeps from tongue to tongue,
A broken, murmuring wail of woe,
From manly hearts by anguish wrung.
Like victims of a midnight dream,
We move, we know not how nor why,
For life and hope but phantoms seem,
And it would be relief—to die.

THE INVOCATION.

BY B. W. W.

God bless the land of flowers,
And turn its winter hours
To bright summer time!
Be the brave soldier’s friend,
And from dangers defend,
When Northern balls descend
On the Southern line!
Father, we implore Thee,
Let Thy people go free
From their foes once more!
And they will bend the knee,
And Thine the praise shall be,
On sunny land and sea,
As in days of yore!
Lord, bid the carnage cease,
Let the banner of peace
Again be unfurled!
Two nations make from one,
And when the work is done,
Over both reign alone—
Saviour of the world!

DOFFING THE GRAY.

BY LIEUTENANT FALLIGANT.

Off with your gray suits, boys,
Off with your rebel gear!
They smack too much of the cannon’s peal,
The lightning flash of your deadly steel,
The terror of your spear.
Their color is like the smoke
That curled o’er your battle-line;
They call to mind the yell that woke
When the dastard columns before you broke,
And their dead were your fatal sign.
Off with the starry wreath,
Ye who have led our van;
To you ’twas the pledge of glorious death,
When we followed you over the gory heath,
Where we whipped them man to man.
Down with the cross of stars—
Too long hath it waved on high;
’Tis covered all over with battle-scars,
But its gleam the Northern banner mars—
’Tis time to lay it by.
Down with the vows we’ve made,
Down with each memory—
Down with the thoughts of our noble dead—
Down, down to the dust, where their forms are laid,
And down with Liberty.