[1] "The sweetest-voiced angel around the throne of God."--Oriental Legend.
The Foe at the Gates.--Charleston.
By J. Dickson Bruns, M. D.
Ring round her! children of her gloridus skies,
Whom she hath nursed to stature proud and great;
Catch one last glance from her imploring eyes,
Then close your ranks and face the threatening fate.
Ring round her! with a wall of horrent steel
Confront the foe, nor mercy ask nor give;
And in her hour of anguish let her feel
That ye can die whom she has taught to live.
Ring round her! swear, by every lifted blade,
To shield from wrong the mother who gave you birth;
That never villain hand on her be laid,
Nor base foot desecrate her hallowed hearth.
See how she thrills all o'er with noble shame,
As through deep sobs she draws the laboring breath,
Her generous brow and bosom all aflame
At the bare thought of insult, worse than death.
And stained and rent her snowy garments are;
The big drops gather on her pallid face,
Gashed with great wounds by cowards who strove to mar
The beauteous form that spurned their foul embrace.
And still she pleads, oh! how she pleads, with prayers
And bitter tears, to every loving child
To stand between her and the doom she fears,
To keep her fame untarnished, undefiled!
Curst be the dastard who shall halt or doubt!
And doubly damned who casts one look behind!
Ye who are men! with unsheathed sword, and shout,
Up with her banner! give it to the wind.