Glorious Virginia! noble the blood
That hath bathed thy fields in a crimson flood;
On many a wide-spread and sunny plain,
Like leaves of autumn thy dead have lain:
The Southron heart is their funeral urn!
The Southern slogan their requiem stern!
Glorious Virginia! to thee, to thee
We lean, as the shoots to the parent tree;
Bending in awe at thy glance of might;--
First in the council, first in the fight!
While our flag is fanned by the breath of fame,
Glorious Virginia! we'll bless thy name.
The War-Christian's Thanksgiving.
Respectfully dedicated to the War-Clergy of the United States.
By S. Teackle Wallis.
Oh, God of battles! once again,
With banner, trump, and drum,
And garments in thy wine-press dyed,
To give Thee thanks we come.
No goats or bullocks garlanded,
Unto thine altars go;
With brothers' blood, by brothers shed,
Our glad libations flow,
From pest-house and from dungeon foul,
Where, maimed and torn, they die,
From gory trench and charnel-house,
Where, heap on heap, they lie.
In every groan that yields a soul,
Each shriek a heart that rends,
With every breath of tainted air,
Our homage, Lord, ascends.
We thank Thee for the sabre's gash,
The cannon's havoc wild;
We bless Thee for the widow's tears,
The want that starves her child!