V.

The hour
Will soon be here.  Oh, when will Liberty
Once more be here?  Scaling yonder peak,
I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow,
O’er the abyss his broad-expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air
As if he floated there without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will,
That buoyed him proudly up.

VI.

Instinctively
I bent my bow; yet kept he rounding still
His airy circle, as in the delight
Of measuring the ample range beneath
And round about; absorbed, he heeded not
The death that threatened him.  I could not shoot. 
’Twas liberty.  I turned my bow aside,
And let him soar away.

James Sheridan Knowles.

BATTLE HYMN.

I.

Father of earth and heaven!  I call thy name! 
Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll;
My eyes are dazzled with the rustling flame;
Father, sustain an untried soldier’s soul! 
Or life or death, whatever be the goal
That crowns or closes round this struggling hour,
Thou knowest, if ever from my spirit stole
One deeper prayer,’twas that no cloud might lower
On my young fame!  Oh, hear, God of eternal power!

II.

God! thou art merciful—­the wintry storm,
The cloud that pours the thunder from its womb,
But show the sterner grandeur of thy form;
The lightnings glancing through the midnight
  gloom,
To Faith’s raised eye as calm, as lovely come,
As splendors of the autumnal evening star,
As roses shaken by the breeze’s plume,
When like cool incense comes the dewy air,
And on the golden wave the sunset burns afar.

III.

God! thou art mighty!—­at thy footstool bound,
     Lie gazing to thee Chance, and Life, and Death;
Nor in the Angel-circle flaming round,
     Nor in the million worlds that blaze beneath
     Is one that can withstand thy wrath’s hot breath—­
Woe in thy frown—­in thy smile, victory! 
     Hear my last prayer—­I ask no mortal wreath;
Let but these eyes my rescued country see,
Then take my spirit, All-Omnipotent, to thee.

IV.

Now for the fight—­now for the cannon-peal—­
     Forward—­through blood and toil, and cloud and
          fire! 
Glorious the shout, the shock, the crash of steel,
     The volley’s roll, the rocket’s blasting spire;
     They shake—­like broken waves their squares
          retire,—­
On, them, hussars!—­now give them rein and heel;
     Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire:—­
Earth cries for blood—­in thunder on them wheel! 
This hour to Europe’s fate shall set the triumph seal.