[CT] African slavery.
I see the dawn of glory grander still,
When hand in hand upon this battle-field
The blue-eyed maidens of the Merrimac
With dewy roses from the Granite Hills,
And dark-eyed daughters from the land of palms
With orange-blossoms from the broad St. Johns,
In solemn concert singing as they go,
Shall strew the graves of these fraternal dead.
The day of triumph comes, O blood-stained Flag!
Washed clean and lustrous in the morning light
Of a new era, thou shalt float again
In more than pristine glory o’er the land
Peace-blest and re-united. On the seas
Thou shalt be honored to the farthest isle.
The oppressed of foreign lands shall flock the shores
To look upon and bless thee. Mothers shall lift
Their infants to behold thee as a star
New-born in heaven to light the darksome world.
The children weeping round the desolate,
Sore-stricken mother in the saddened home
Whereto the father shall no more return,
In future years will proudly boast the blood
Of him who bravely fell defending thee.
And these misguided brothers who would tear
Thy starry field asunder and would trail
Their own proud flag and history in the dust,
Ere many years will bless thee, dear old Flag,
That thou didst triumph even over them.
Aye, even they with proudly swelling hearts
Will see the glory thou shalt shortly wear,
And new-born stars swing in upon thy field
In lustrous clusters. Come, O glorious day
Of Freedom crowned with Peace. God’s will be done!
God’s will is peace on earth—good-will to men.
The chains all broken and the bond all free,
O may this nation learn to war no more;
Yea, into plow-shares may these brothers beat
Their swords and into pruning-hooks their spears,
Clasp hands again, and plant these battle-fields
With golden corn and purple-clustered vines,
And side by side re-build the broken walls—
Joined and cemented as one solid stone
With patriot-love and Christ’s sweet charity.
[Written for the St. Paul Pioneer.]
Good morning—good morning—a
happy new year!
We greet you, kind friends of the old Pioneer;
Hope your coffee is good and your steak is well done,
And you’re happy as clams in the sand and the sun.
The old year’s a shadow—a shade of the past;
It is gone with its toils and its triumphs so vast—
With its joys and its tears—with its pleasure and pain—
With its shouts of the brave and its heaps of the slain—
Gone—and it cometh—no, never again.
And as we look forth on the future so fair
Let us brush from the picture the visage of care;
The error, the folly, the frown and the tear—
Drop them all at the grave of the silent old year.
Has the heart been oppressed with a burden of woe?