There are women, still as the stifled air
On the burning desert's track,
Not a cry of joy, not a welcome cheer--
And their brave ones coming back!
There are fair young heads in their morning pride,
Like the lilies pale they bow;
Just a memory left to the soldier's bride--
Ah, God! sustain her now!
There are martial steps that we may not hear!
There are forms we may not see!
Death's muster roll they have answered clear,
They are free! thank God, they are free!
Not a fetter fast, nor a prisoner's chain
For the noble army gone--
No conqueror comes o'er the heavenly plain--
Peace, peace to the dead alone!
They are ringing peace, but strangers tread
O'er the land where our fathers trod,
And our birthright joys, like a dream, have fled,
And Thou! where art Thou, 0 God!
They are ringing peace! not here, not here,
Where the victor's mark is set;
Roll back to the North its mocking cheer--
No peace to the Southland yet!
We may sheathe the sword, and the rifle-gun
We may hang on the cottage wall,
And the bayonet brave, sharp duty done,
From, the soldier's arm it may fall.
But peace!--no peace! till the same good sword,
Drawn out from its scabbard be,
And the wide world list to my country's word,
And the South! oh, the South, be free!
Charleston Broadside.