Lord of Hosts, that beholds us in battle, defending
The homes of our sires 'gainst the hosts of the foe,
Send us help on the wings of thy angels descending,
And shield from his terrors, and baffle his blow.
Warm the faith of our sons, till they flame as the iron,
Red-glowing from the fire-forge, kindled by zeal;
Make them forward to grapple the hordes that environ,
In the storm-rush of battle, through forests of steel!
Teach them, Lord, that the cause of their country makes glorious
The martyr who falls in the front of the fight;--
That the faith which is steadfast makes ever victorious
The arm which strikes boldly defending the right;--
That the zeal, which is roused by the wrongs of a nation,
Is a war-horse that sweeps o'er the field as his own;
And the Faith, which is winged by the soul's approbation,
Is a warrior, in proof, that can ne'er be o'erthrown.
Kentucky, She Is Sold
By J. R. Barrick, of Kentucky.
A tear for "the dark and bloody ground,"
For the land of hills and caves;
Her Kentons, Boones, and her Shelbys sleep
Where the vandals tread their graves;
A sigh for the loss of her honored fame,
Dear won in the days of old;
Her ship is manned by a foreign crew,
For Kentucky, she is sold.
The bones of her sons lie bleaching on
The plains of Tippecanoe,
On the field of Raisin her blood was shed,
As free as the summer's dew;
In Mexico her McRee and Clay
Were first of the brave and bold--
A change has been in her bosom wrought,
For Kentucky, she is sold.
Pride of the free, was that noble State,
And her banner still were so,
Had the iron heel of the despot not
Her prowess sunk so low;
Her valleys once were the freeman's home,
Her valor unbought with gold,
But now the pride of her life is fled,
For Kentucky, she is sold.
Her brave would once have scorned to wear
The yoke that crushes her now,
And the tyrant grasp, and the vandal tread,
Would sullen have made her brow;
Her spirit yet will be wakened up,
And her saddened fate be told,
Her gallant sons to the world yet prove
That Kentucky is not sold.
Sonnet--The Ship of State.
Here lie the peril and necessity
That need a race of giants--a great realm,
With not one noble leader at the helm;
And the great Ship of State still driving high,
'Midst breakers, on a lee shore--to the rocks.
With ever and anon most terrible shocks--
The crew aghast, and fear in every eye.
Yet is the gracious Providence still nigh;
And, if our cause be just, our hearts be true,
We shall save goodly ship and gallant crew,
Nor suffer shipwreck of our liberty!
It needs that as a people we arise,
With solemn purpose that even fate defies,
And brave all perils with unblenching eye!
Charleston Mercury.