SKIRMISH AT EDWARD'S FERRY, VA.,
JUNE 18TH, '61.
As the cohorts of Pharaoh, o'erwhelmed by the wave,
All uncoffined were hurled to a fathomless grave,
So the red tide of vengeance terrific shall flow,
'Till the ranks of the Southron lie pallid below!
Tho' their warriors are marshalled with fire in each eye,
Not a stone in the future shall point where they lie,
For their bones shall ne'er know the repose of a tomb;
That they were will be known by the page of their doom
Which all dreadful shall frown in the blackness of wrath
As a warning to those who'd pursue the same path,
For 'twill tell how the children of Judas were born,
And grew up in the brightness of Liberty's morn;
But, as Satan once walked in the gardens of light,
And did homage to God, in the pure garments of white;
And bursting from power raised the standard of Hell,
And a prison of fire yawned beneath as he fell:—
So these demons of earth, whose insatiate lust,
Made them false to their God, and earth's holiest trust.
'TIS GROWING VERY DARK, MOTHER.
SKIRMISH AT PATTERSON'S CREEK, VA.,
'Tis growing very dark, mother,
I cannot see the light,
The sun behind the purple hills
Has sunk too soon to-night.
The gathering gloom falls like a veil,
I cannot see the stars,
I cannot see our floating flag,
With its white and crimson bars.
'Tis growing very dark, mother,
I cannot see your face,
Yet I know that you are kneeling
In your old familiar place;
And the low tones of your voice, mother,
Come through the dark'ning air,
As you bow beside my vacant bed,
And pray your evening prayer.
'Tis growing very dark, mother,
The night comes cold and still,
I cannot see the watch-fires gleam
On yonder tent-crown'd hill;
A mist is on the river's marge,
A haze comes o'er my sight,
I wait in vain for day to dawn,
And bless me with its light.
"Tis growing very dark, mother,
Would God that you were here,
For by the chill which o'er me steals
I know that death is near.
Yet darker, darker falls the gloom,
But there is peace within,
But e're the morn yon pearly gates
Will ope' and let me in.
. 'Tis growing very light, mother,
I see the angel's wings;
No more the startling cry, "To Arms!”
Out on the still air rings;
But music from immortal lips
Is softly floating down,
And One whose head a halo wears,
Holds forth a victor's crown.
SEND THEM HOME TENDERLY.
ENGAGEMENT AT MATHIAS' POINT, VA.,
JUNE 27TH, '61.
SEND them home tenderly,
The sleepers at rest,
With hands meekly folded
On each silent breast;
Let them come back to slumber
Beneath northern skies,
Where true hearts may weep o'er them,
And prayer-incense rise,
Send them home tenderly,
The noble and true,
Scarce gone from their hearthstones,
Scarce whispered " ADIEU,"
Gone forth for their country,
Its rights to sustain,
But, all bleeding and lifeless,
Returning again.
Send them home tenderly,
Our martyred and brave,
With the stripes and stars 'round them,
All robed for the grave,
Bereaved mothers shall clasp them
In pride to their breast,
And the good of our nation
Shall weep where they rest.
Send them home tenderly,
Each wound gaping wide
Shall send myriads of voices
From the dark purple tide;
And strong hands shall be grasping
The bright, unsheathed sword,
With fresh fervor to battle
For right and the Lord.
"HOME THOUGHTS."
SKIRMISH AT FALL'S CHURCH, VA.,
JUNE 28TH, '61.
ALONE upon the battle-field,
The weary soldier stands,
And mournfully surveys the scene,
Where fought the patriot bands.
Around upon the dreary plain,
Lies many a mangled form,
Whose heart that morn beat wild with joy,
And hope
so bright and warm.
The evening stole with trembling steps,
The sun's last pleasant ray,
And gloomy shadows grim and cold,
Shot through the twilight gray;
Imagination conjured up
And joys ef by-gone happy days,
Kept by memory green.
Of loving friends left far behind,
prayers and smiles so dear,
The sunshine of his happy home,
Affection's silent tear.
How soon the bravest heart's o'ercome
By hopes and memories wild,
For thoughts like these so good and pure,
Oft make the man a child.
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