Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright,
Flashed the sword of Lee!
Far in the front of the deadly fight,
High o’er the brave, in the cause of right
It’s stainless sheen, like a beacon light,
Led us to victory.
Out of its scabbard, when full long
It slumbered peacefully—
Roused from its rest by the battle song,
Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong,
Guarding the right, and avenging the wrong—
Gleamed the sword of Lee!

Forth from its scabbard, high in air,
Beneath Virginia’s sky—
And they who saw it gleaming there,
And knew who bore it, knelt to swear,
That where that sword led they would dare
To follow and to die.
Out of its scabbard! Never hand
Waved sword from stain as free,
Nor purer sword led braver band,
Nor braver bled for a brighter land,
Nor brighter land had a cause as grand,
Nor cause a chief like Lee!
Forth from its scabbard! How we prayed,
That sword might victor be!
And when our triumph was delayed,
And many a heart grew sore afraid,
We still hoped on, while gleamed the blade
Of noble Robert Lee!
Forth from its scabbard! All in vain!
Forth flashed the sword of Lee!
’Tis shrouded now in its sheath again,
It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain,
Defeated, yet without a stain,
Proudly and peacefully.

OFF WITH YOUR GRAY SUITS, BOYS!

By Lieut. Falligant, Savannah, Ga.

Off with gray suits, boys!
Off with your rebel gear!
It smacks too much of the cannon’s peal,
The lightning flash of your deadly steel,
And fills our hearts with fear.
The color is like the smoke,
That curled o’er your battle line;
It calls to mind the yell that woke,
When the dastard columns before you broke,
And their dead wore your fatal sign!
Off with your starry wreaths,
Ye who have led our van!
For you ’twas the pledge of a glorious death,
As we followed you over the glorious heath,
When we whipped them man to man!
Down with the cross and stars!
Too long has it waved on high;
’Tis covered all over with battle scars,
But its gleam the hated banner mars—
’Tis time to lay it by.

Down with the vows we had 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!

THE CONFEDERATE NOTE.[19]

By S. A. Jonas.

Representing nothing on God’s earth now,
And naught in the water below it,
As a pledge of a nation that’s dead and gone,
Keep it, dear Captain, and show it.
Show it to those that will lend an ear
To the tale this paper can tell,
Of liberty born, of the patriot’s dream,
Of a storm-cradled nation that fell.
Too poor to possess the precious ore,
And too much a stranger to borrow,
We issue to-day our “promise to pay,”
And hope to redeem on the morrow.
Days rolled by, and weeks became years,
But our coffers were empty still;
Coin was so rare that the treasurer quakes,
If a dollar should drop in the till.