242

AN APPEAL.

Never or now! cries the blood of a nation,

Poured on the turf where the red rose should

bloom;

Now is the day and the hour of salvation,
Never or now! peals the trumpet of doom!

Never or now! roars the hoarse-throated cannon
Through the black canopy blotting the skies ;
Never or now! flaps the shell-blasted pennon
O'er the deep ooze where the Cumberland lies!

From the foul dens where our brothers are dying,
Aliens and foes in the land of their birth,
From the rank swamps where our martyrs are lying
Pleading in vain for a handful of earth,

From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered, Furrowed and ridged by the battle-field's plough, Comes the loud summons; too long you have slum

bered,

Hear the last Angel-trump -- Never or Now!

THE NEW REVEILLE.

243

THE NEW REVEILLE.

BY WILLIAM O. BOURNE.

COME from the North, O freeman! Now or

never!

Clothed in the panoply of right and power; The foe is striving with a bold endeavor

To win the triumph in the noontide hour; Come with the earnest of the blazing future ! Come with the burdens of the storied past! Come with exultings in the mighty present, And on the altar all your tribute cast.

Come from the pine-clad hills and furthest river, That catch the rising of the eastern sun,

With sacred vows and giant will deliver

From treason's tread the land of WASHINGTON. Come from the hills where fountains pure and gushing

Flow with the emblem of a better life; Or, like the cataract in thunders rushing, Press on and conquer in the holy strife.

Come from the loom where artist-hands are weaving Their rare devices in the warp and woof;

The stronger web in Time's great loom is leaving A mighty future to a tyrant's hoof;

244

THE NEW REVEILLE.

With living threads that beat with love's pulsations,
And glow with images of Freedom's fire,
Weave now the destiny of coming nations,
That else shall gather at the solemn pyre !

Come from the fields, O brave and sturdy yeoman Come from the hearthstones where ye love to sing!

Now is the hour to meet the bloody foeman,
Then back victorious all your laurels bring!
The songs of peace are for the day of triumph,
When Freedom's harvest all is gathered in.
Then come! on wider fields of truth and duty,
Reap long and well amid the battle din.

Come from the Keystone in the arch of Union! Bring from the dark mines the treasures lying deep!

The fires grow hotter in the nation's furnace, With fiercer blasts that will not let us sleep ; With stalwart arms our heroes now are moulding Pillars of iron for our temple dome,

Which now we forge, while other lands, beholding, Hear the great anvil ring in Freedom's home.

Come from the mountain, lake, and fertile prairie, Blooming in verdure where the freemen toil;

TO CANAÄN!

245

Strike for the waters that shall onward carry Forth to the world the riches of your soil; Strike for the freedom of the mighty river! Strike for the glory of your Western land! Strike, freemen! till victorious blows shall shiver All the base foes that in your pathway stand.

Come from the South, O well-tried sons of sorrow!
Come to the help of loyal men and true!
We fight and labor for the bright to-morrow,
When vows of love the nation shall renew!
Come from the North! for so we sware forever!
Come from the East, O sons of Pilgrim sires!
Come from the West, O brother! NOW OR NEVER!
While Freedom kindles up immortal fires.

TO CANAÄN!

A SONG OF THE SIX HUNDRED THOUSAND.*
*

WHERE are you going, soldiers,

With banner, gun, and sword?

We're marching South to Canaän
To battle for the Lord!

* See Numbers i. 45, 46.

246

TO CANAÄN!

What Captain leads your armies
Along the rebel coasts?
The Mighty One of Israel,

His name is Lord of Hosts!
To Canaän, to Canaän
The Lord has led us forth,

To blow before the heathen walls
The trumpets of the North!

What flag is this you carry

Along the sea and shore?

The same our grandsires lifted up,-
The same our father's bore!

In many a battle's tempest
It shed the crimson rain, -
What God has woven in His loom
Let no man rend in twain!
To Canaan, to Canaän

The Lord has led us forth,
To plant upon the rebel towers
The banners of the North!

What troop is this that follows,

All armed with picks and spades?
These are the swarthy bondsmen, -
The iron-skin brigades!

They'll pile up Freedom's breastwork,