Bring all the trophies, that are owed
To him at once so great, so good.
His Bible and his well-used sword--
His snowy lawn not "stained with blood!"
No! pure as when before his God,
He laid its spotless folds aside,
War's path of awful duty trod,
And on his country's altar died!
Oh! Warrior-bishop, Church and State
Sustain in thee an equal loss;
But who would call thee from thy weight
Of glory, back to bear life's cross!
The Faith was kept--thy course was run,
Thy good fight finished; hence the word,
"Well done, oh! faithful child, well done,
Taste thou the mercies of thy Lord!"
No dull decay nor lingering pain,
By slow degrees, consumed thy health,
A glowing messenger of flame
Translated thee by fiery death!
And we who in one common grief
Are bending now beneath the rod,
In this sweet thought may find relief,
"Our holy father walked with God,
And is not--God has taken him!"
Viola.
"Stonewall" Jackson
By H. L. Flash.
Not 'midst the lightning of the stormy fight
Not in the rush upon the vandal foe,
Did kingly death, with his resistless might,
Lay the great leader low!
His warrior soul its earthly shackles bore
In the full sunshine of a peaceful town;
When all the storm, was hushed, the trusty oak
That propped our cause, went down.
Though his alone the blood that flecks the ground,
Recording all his grand heroic deeds,
Freedom herself is writhing with his wound,
And all the country bleeds.
He entered not the nation's "Promised Land,"
At the red belching of the cannon's mouth;
But broke the "House of Bondage" with his hand--
The Moses of the South!