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FLAG OF THE CONSTELLATION.

And a people's Will and a people's Might

Shall right the Wrong and proclaim the Right.

The foe may howl at the fiat just,

And gnash his fangs in the trodden dust;
But the battle leaves his bark a wreck,

And the Freeman's heel is on his track.

Not all in vain is the lesson taught,

That a great soul's Dream is the world's New
Thought;

And the Scaffold marked with a death sublime
Is the Throne ordained for the coming time.

FLAG OF THE CONSTELLATION.

BY T. BUCHANAN READ.

HE stars of morn on our banner borne

THE stars of

With the iris of heaven are blended;

The hand of our sires first mingled those fires, And by us they shall be defended.

CHORUS.

Then hail the true Red, White, and Blue,

The flag of the constellation;

WAR SONG.

It sails as it sailed by our forefathers hailed, O'er battles that made us a nation.

What hand so bold, as strike from its fold,
One star or one stripe of its bright'ning?
For him be those stars each a fiery Mars,
Each stripe be a terrible lightning.

Then hail the true Red, etc.

Its meteor form shall ride the storm,
Till the fiercest of foes surrender;
The storm gone by, it shall gild the sky,
A rainbow of peace and of splendor.
Then hail the true Red, etc.

Peace to the world, is our motto unfurled, Though we shun not the field that is gory; At home or abroad, fearing none but our God, We will carve our own pathway to glory. Then hail the true Red, etc.

WAR SONG.

BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER.

WITH sword

ITH sword on thigh, “to do or die,”

I march to meet the foe;

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A pirate band have cursed the land,
Then deal the deadly blow.

To Richmond on, and write upon
Her walls the words of doom;

Secession's horde from Freedom's sword

Deserves a bloody tomb.

Sound, bugle, sound! a rally round
The Star-flag of the Free;
Nursed by a flood of generous blood
Was Freedom's sacred tree.
Accursed by God in dust be trod
Rebellion's hellish horde

The fiends to tame hearts are aflame
With cannon-peal and sword.

'Tis hard to leave the babes that grieve
For a fond, absent sire;

His cherished wife, charm of his life,
To brave the battle's fire;

But duty calls, and loudly falls

Our war-cry on the ear;

Our banners wave above the brave—
Then on and know not fear.

THE FLAG OF THE SKY.

THE FLAG OF THE SKY.

ANONYMOUS.

WILLIE stood at the window,

Little Willie of five years old,

Watching the rainbow colors,

As they fade in the sunset's gold.

Red pennants and streamers of fire,
On the blue expanse unfurl,
And over the red the white clouds lie,
Like floating mists of pearl.

"Is n't it beautiful, mamma?

And the dark eyes grow so bright, They almost seem to catch the glow Of the sky's wild glory light.

"See, there is the red, mamma,

And there is the beautiful blue;

Did God make the beautiful red,

And did he make the white clouds, too?

"And away up, up in the sky,

Is such a little bright star;

Why, God is for the Union,
Is n't He, mamma ?”

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TO-DAY.

TO-DAY.

BY JOEL BENTON.

THROUGH gates of gold and pearl he came, The eastern hills were all aflame;

He touched the earth with tender light,
And kissed away the shades of night.

"Here comes our Friend," the Lily said; The Rose blushed to a deeper red,

And all the gentle race of flowers
Poured incense for the Morning Hours.

The sky bent down its deepest blue ;
From tree to tree the Robins flew ;

The jewelled fields grew hourly fair ;
Bird-carols floated on the air;

The woods were still, as in a dream,
And like a diamond shone the stream

"To-day, a King is, in disguise," Observed the poet, shrewdly wise;