I AM STILL ALIVE AND WELL
AFTER THE FIGHT AT BUCKHANNON VA.
THOU'RT living still, though blood-stained war
Is strewing our land with dead,
And fiercely and wildly alarum afar,
The roaring cannon and the rattling car,
Is filling stout hearts with dread.
Thou'rt living still the hope of the brave,
Thy great burning thoughts, yet true,
And nerving the arms our country shall save,
Tho' their bodies shall rest in the patriot's grave,
They die for the red, white and blue !
Thou'rt living still, for how canst thou die
While Liberty bides in our land?
You lived with her, fought for her, bearing on high Her banner when treason's foul legions were nigh, When the strife came had e'en to hand!
Thou'rt living still, the thousands who fall,
In the battle for right, shall live
In the memory urn of their country, whose call
Bade them leave friends, home, and their all,
To die that freedom might life.
Live on, then, ye heroes! ye triumph in right!
Stout hearts of oak in your day!
Your names in our annals shall ever be bright,
And when freedom again shall need us to fight,
Be your brave virtues our stay!
WAS MY BROTHER IN THE BATTLE.
BATTLE AT WILLIAMSPORT, VA.
JULY 2D, '61.
Tell me, tell me, weary soldier,
From the rude and stirring wars
Was my brother in the battle
Where you gained those noble scars?
He was ever brave and valiant,
And I know he never fled;
Was his name among the wounded.
Or was numbered with the dead?
Was my brother in the battle,
When the tide of war raged high?
You would know him 'mong a thousand
By his dark and flashing eye.
Was my brother in the battle,
When the noble Highland host
Were so wrongfully outnumbered
On the Carolina coast?
Did he struggle for the Union,
'Mid the thunder and the rain,
Till he fell among the fallen
On a bleak Virginia plain?
Oh, I'm sure that he was dauntless,
And his courage ne'er would lag,
While contending for the honor
Of our dear and cherished flag.
Was my brother in the battle
When the flag of Freedom came
To the rescue of the Union,
And protection of our fame?
While the Fleet from off the waters
Poured out terror and dismay;
Till the bold and erring foemen.
Fell like leaves in autumn day.
When the bugle called to battle,
And the cannon deeply roared,
Oh, I wish I could have seen him
Draw his sharp and glittering sword.
SKIRMISH AT FARMINGTON, VA.
JULY 2D, '61.
Say not, the struggle nought availeth
The labor and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light. In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, But Westward, look the land is bright.
FIRST NATIONAL CELEBRATION DURING THE WAR.
GOD of our fathers, now extend
Thy ever gracious hand,
And grasp from destruction's pow'r
Our poor, distracted land-
The land so blessed by Thee with all
A nation could desire,
Where like a beacon for the world
Has burned dear Freedom's fire.
God of our fathers, still the storm
That sweeps across our shore,
And into every throbbing heart
The sweets of concord pour;
Bid Thou the winds of passion stay,
The waves of anger keep-
No longer let the fearful gale
'Round Freedom's cradle sweep.
God of our fathers, give us light,
Turn darkness into day,
Let wisdom in our councils sit,
'Mid those who would betray.
Oh! yield them light, that they may see
How fearful is the blow
That gives a nation to despair,
And Freedom up to woe!
God of our fathers, He who hears
The soul's last whisper'd prayer,
Now listen to our people's voice,
And take them 'neath thy care.
Thy hand is mighty to protect,
Thy voice the dead may wake—
Stretch forth thy hand-oh! speak the word,
For our dear country's sake!
O! weep not mother-weep not now,
Though I'm going away;
Our country is in danger, mother-
Her summons I obey.
Remember that 'tis duty calls-
There's glory to be won;
And fortune waits impatiently
To crown with fame your son.
You surely would not hold me back,
To prove a coward knave,
And see our country rent in twain,
While I've an arm to save.
No! mother, no! that starry flag
Must never be disgraced;
Our swords shall have no peace or rest
'Till ev'ry stain's effaced.
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