282

THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862.

And still she walks in golden hours

Through harvest-happy farms,

And still she wears her fruits and flowers
Like jewels on her arms.

What means the gladness of the plain,
This joy of eve and morn,

The mirth that shakes the beard of grain,
And yellow locks of corn?

Ah! eyes may well be full of tears,
And hearts with hate are hot;
But even paced come round the years,
And Nature changes no.

She meets with smiles our bitter grief,
With songs our groans of pain;
She mocks with tint of flower and leaf
The war-field's crimson stain.

Still in the cannon's pause we hear
Her sweet thanksgiving psalm;
Too near to God for doubt or fear,
She shares the eternal calm.

She knows the seed lies safe below
The fires that blast and burn;

OUR COUNTRY.

For all the tears of blood we sow,
She waits the rich return.

She sees, with clearer eye than ours,
The good of suffering born,

The hearts that blossom like her flowers,
And ripen like her corn.

Oh! give to us, in times like these,

The vision of her eyes;

And make her eyes and fruited trees
Our golden prophecies!

Oh! give to us her finer ear!

Above this stormy din;

We too would hear the bells of cheer

Ring peace and freedom in.

283

OUR COUNTRY.

E sailors on the mighty deep,

YE

Ye soldiers of the land,

Your sacred oaths we bid ye keep,

We bid ye faithful stand.

This broad land, this whole land, this free land is

yours,

It is the noble Union your Constancy secures !

284

OUR COUNTRY.

No narrow State in this dread hour
Shall dare to claim your birth,
Allegiance to the Federal power

Is more than Home or Hearth.

This broad land, this whole land, this free land is

yours,

It is the noble Union your Loyalty secures!

Keep ye the mighty river,
Unbroken in its tide,

And the hills that stand forever,

Let no mean hand divide.

This broad land, this whole land, this free land is

yours,

It is the noble Union your Fidelity secures !

The laws your fathers writ in blood

No impious thought shall break,

The flag they bore through fire and flood

Let no true heart forsake.

This broad land, this whole land, this free land is

yours,

It is the noble Union your Bravery secures!

BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

MY country weepeth sore

Above her fallen brave,

By field, by grove, by stream they lie,
Their faces toward their native sky,
And scarcely find a grave.

She listeneth to the wail

That from a thousand homes

By town, by tower, by prairie bright,
At dawn, at noon, at dead of night,
In wild discordance comes.

She at the threshold grieves,
Where stretched on pallets lie,
Beneath the surgeon's scalpel keen,
The stalwart form, the noble mien,
Convulsed with agony.

She bendeth o'er the wave,

Where sank the patriot train
Whose volleying guns a farewell sent,
As downward with their ship they went,
To the unfathomed main.

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CLARIBEL'S PRAYERS.

She listeneth as the Earth,
Surcharg'd with bloody rain,
Her many cherished sons demands :
Her bold, her beautiful, whose hands
Made rich her harvest-wain.

She kneeleth at the Throne
Of mercy, day and night;
She looketh o'er the war-cloud dim,
With an unwavering trust in Him
Who doeth all things right.

CLARIBEL'S PRAYERS.

THE day, with cold, gray feet, clung shivering to the hills,

While o'er the valley, still night's rain-fringed curtains fell;

But waking blue eyes smiled. "'Tis ever as God

wills;

He knoweth best, and be it rain or shine, 't is well,

Praise God!" cried always little Claribel.

Then sank she on her knees. With eager, lifted hands,