Once, Men of the North, we were brothers, and still, Though brothers no more, we would gladly be friends; Nor join in a conflict accursed, that must fill But, if smitten with blindness, and mad with the rage The gods gave to all whom they wished to des troy, You would act a new Iliad, to darken the age With horrors beyond what is told us of Troy If, deaf as the adder itself to the cries, When Wisdom, Humanity, Justice implore, You would have our proud eagle to feed on the eyes Of those who have taught him so grandly to soar— If there be to your malice no limit imposed, And you purpose hereafter to rule with the rod The men upon whom you have already closed Our goodly domain and the temples of God: To the breeze then your banner dishonored unfold, And, at once, let the tocsin be sounded afar; We greet you, as greeted the Swiss Charles, the Bold With a farewell to peace and a welcome to war! For the courage that clings to our soil, ever bright, Shall catch inspiration from turf and from tide; Our sons unappalled shall go forth to the fight, With the smile of the fair, the pure kiss of the bride; And the bugle its echoes shall send through the past, In the trenches of Yorktown to waken the slain ; While the sod of King's Mountain shall heave at the blast, And give up its heroes to glory again. The War-Christian's Thanksgiving. (vi.) RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE WAR-CLERGY OF THE UNITED STATES, BISHOPS, PRIESTS, AND DEACONS. Cursed be he that doeth the work of the Lord negligently, and cursed be he that keepeth back his sword from blood.-Jeremiah 48: 10. O GOD of Battles! once again, And garments in Thy wine-press dyed, No goats or bullocks, garlanded, With brothers' blood, by brothers shed, From pest-house and from dungeon foul In every groan that yields a soul, 70 The War-Christian's Thanksgiving. With every breath of tainted air— We thank thee for the sabre's gash, We bless Thee for the widow's tears, We give Thee praise, that Thou hast lit That lust and rapine hunt their prey, That, for the songs of idle joy Thou sendest War on Earth, Ill Will To Men, for evermore. We know that wisdom, truth, and right To us and ours are given That thou hast clothed us with the wrath To do the work of Heaven. We know that plains and cities waste Are pleasant in Thine eyes; Thou lov'st a hearthstone desolate, Let not our weakness fall below The measure of Thy will, And while the press hath wine to bleed, Oh! tread it with us still! Teach us to hate-as Jesus taught Grant us Thy vengeance as our own, Thy Pity, hide above. Teach us to turn, with reeking hands, And hail the blessed curses there, On them that sheathe the sword. Where'er we tread, may deserts spring, Till none are left to slay; And when the last red drop is shed, |