'Tis done! the gory field is ours; we've conquered in the fight!
And yet once more our tongues can tell the triumph of the right;
And humbled is the haughty foe, who our destruction sought,
For God's right hand and holy arm have great deliverance wrought.
Oh, then, unto His holy name ring out the joyful song--
The race has not been to the swift, the battle to the strong.
[1] Pronounced Eujee
The Guerillas: A Southern War-Song.
By S. Teackle Wallis, of Maryland.
"Awake! and to horse, my brothers!
For the dawn is glimmering gray;
And hark! in the crackling brushwood
There are feet that tread this way.
"Who cometh?" "A friend." "What tidings?"
"O God! I sicken to tell,
For the earth seems earth no longer,
And its sights are sights of hell!
"There's rapine and fire and slaughter,
From the mountain down to the shore;
There's blood on the trampled harvest--
There's blood on the homestead floor.
"From the far-off conquered cities
Comes the voice of a stifled wail;
And the shrieks and moans of the houseless
Ring out, like a dirge, on the gale.
"I've seen, from the smoking village
Our mothers and daughters fly;
I've seen where the little children
Sank down, in the furrows, to die.
"On the banks of the battle-stained river
I stood, as the moonlight shone,
And it glared on the face of my brother,
As the sad wave swept him on.