A NATION'S PRAYER.
FIRST NATIONAL CELEBRATION DURING THE WAR, JULY 4TH, '61.
GOD of our fathers, now extend
Thy ever gracious hand,
And grasp from fell destruction's pow'r
Our poor, distracted land-
A nation could desire,
blessed by Thee with all
Where like a beacon for the world
Has burned dear Freedom's fire.
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 least 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!
BEFORE THE BATTLE OF CARTHAGE, MO.,
JULY 5TH, '61.
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.
The Union must be saved, mother,
Cost us what it will—
The North, and South, and East, and West
Shall be united still.
Those traitors will be curs'd, mother,
Aye, e'en beneath the sod;
For traitors to their country
Are traitors to their God.
Then weep not, mother-weep not now,
Though I now go 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
THE SOLDIER'S MOTHER'S THOUGHTS.
SKIRMISH AT BIRD'S POINT, Mo.,
He is twenty, I know; and boys younger than he,
In the ranks going by every day we can see ;
And those stronger and prouder, by far, I have met,
But I never have seen a young soldier yet
With so gallant a mein or so lofty a brow—
How the sun and the wind must have darkened it now!
How he will be chang'd when he comes from the South
His beard shutting out the sweet smiles of his mouth!
And the tremulous beauty, the womanly grace,
Will be bronzed from the delicate lines of his face,
Where of late only childhood's soft beauty I saw,
For he seemed like a child till he went to the war!
DIED, ON THE BATTLE-FIELD,
SECOND ENGAGEMENT AT BUCKHANNON, VA.,
JULY 10TH, '61.
FAR from his native home he died;
The clash of arms on every side,
The roar of cannon, and the tide
Of red blood flowing.
Slowly the spark of life went out,
As rang the gallant victors' shout,
Telling the foe were put to rout
By his brave comrades.
No gentle mother softly laid
On his hot brow her hand, or prayed
As his soul heavenward strayed-
Heavenward ascended.
But as the glorious field was won,
While rushed the conquering army on,
As blood-red sank the setting sun,
Gloriously he perished,
Around his green and hallowed grave
Fold friends shall sadly mourn the brave,
Saying, "He gladly died to save
His land from ruin."
Over this lowly mound of his
All that he asked or wished for is
on his narrow headstone this
"DIED FOR HIS COUNTRY!"
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