They bid us uplift our banner
Once more in the name of God;
And press to the goal of Freedom
By the paths our Fathers trod:
They passed o'er their dying brothers;
From their pale lips caught the sigh--
The flame of their hearts heroic,
From the flash of each closing eye!
Up! Up! for the time is pressing,
The red waves close around;--
They will lift us on their billows
If our hearts are faithful found!
They will lift us high--exultant,
And the craven world shall see
The Ark of a ransomed people
Afloat on the crimson sea!
Afloat, with her glorious banner--
The cross on its field of red,
Its stars, and its white folds waving
In triumph at her head;
Emblem of all that's sacred
Heralding Faith to view;
Type of unblemished honor;
Symbol of all that's true!
Then what can those waves be singing
But an anthem grand, sublime,
As they bear for our martyred heroes
A wail to the coast of Time?
What else as they roll majestic
To the far-off shadowy shore,
To join the Eternal chorus
When Time shall be no more!
Old Moultrie.
By Catherine Gendron Poyas, of Charleston.
All lovers of poetry will know in whose liquid gold I have dipped my brush to illumine the picture.
The splendor falls on bannered walls
Of ancient Moultrie, great in story;
And flushes now, his scar-seamed brow,
With rays of golden glory!
Great in his old renown;
Great in the honor thrown
Around him by the foe,
Had sworn to lay him low!
The glory falls--historic walls
Too weak to cover foes insulting,
Become a tower--a sheltering bower--
A theme of joy exulting;
God, merciful and great,
Preserved the high estate
Of Moultrie, by His power
Through the fierce battle-hour!
The splendor fell--his banners swell
Majestic forth to catch the shower;
Our own loved blue receives anew
A rich immortal dower!
Adown the triple bars
Of its companion, spars
Of golden glory stream;
On seven-rayed circlet beam!