Away, from orange groves that glow
With golden fruit or snowy flowers,
Roses that never cease to blow,
Myrtle and jasmine bowers.
From these afar, the hoary bead
Of feeble age, the timid maid,
Mothers and nurslings, all have fled,
Of ruthless foes afraid.
But, ready, with avenging hand,
By wood and fen, in ambush lie
Your sons, a stern, determined band,
Intent to do or die.
Whene'er the foe advance to dare
The onset, urged by hate and wrath,
Still have they found, aghast with fear,
A Lion in the path.
Scourged, to their ships they wildly rush,
Their shattered ranks to shield and save,
And learn how hard a task to crush
The spirit of the brave.
Oh, God! Protector of the right,
The widows' stay, the orphans' friend,
Restrain the rage of lawless might,
The wronged and crushed defend!
Be guide and helper, sword and shield!
From hill and vale, where'er they roam,
Bring back the yeoman to his field,
The exile to his home!
Pastors and scattered flocks restore;
Their fanes rebuild, their altars raise;
And let their quivering lips once more
Rejoice in songs of praise!
The Empty Sleeve.
By Dr. J. R. Bagby, Of Virginia.