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Page 113
IV.
Selah!--Oh I brothers, sons, and Southrons, rise;
To prayer: and lo! the wonder in the skies!
The sunbow spans your towers, even while the foe
Hurls his fell bolt, and rains his iron blow.
Toss'd by his shafts, the spray above yon height[1]
God's smile hath turned into a golden light;
Orange and purple-golden! In that sign
Find ye fit promise for that voice divine!
Hark! 'tis the thunder! Through the murky air,
The solemn roll goes echoing far and near!
Go forth, and unafraid! His shield is yours!
And the great spirits of your earlier day--
Your fathers, hovering round your sacred shores--
Will guard your bosoms through the unequal fray!
Hark to their voices, issuing through the gloom:[2]
"The cruel hosts that haunt you, march to doom:
Give them the vulture's rites--a naked tomb!
And, while ye bravely smite, with fierce endeavor,
The foe shall reach your city--never! never!"
[1] Charleston was originally settled in 1671. She is now near 2 years
old.
[2]In the late engagement of Fort Sumter, with the enemy's fleet, April
7th, the spray thrown above the walls by their enormous missiles, was
formed into a beautiful sunbow, seeing which, General Ripley, with the
piety of Constantine, exclaimed: "_In hoc signo vinces!_"
Charleston Mercury.
War-Waves.
By Catherine Gendron Poyas, of Charleston.
What are the war-waves saying,
As they compass us around?
The dark, ensanguined billows,
With their deep and dirge-like sound?
Do they murmur of submission;
Do they call on us to bow
Our necks to the foe triumphant
Who is riding o'er us now?
Never! No sound submissive
Comes from those waves sublime,
Or the low, mysterious voices
Attuned to their solemn chime!
For the hearts of our noble martyrs
Are the springs of its rich supply;
And those deeply mystic murmurs
Echo their dying cry!
They bid us uplift our banner
Once more in the name of God;
And press to the goal of Freedom
By the paths our Fathers trod:
_They_ passed o'er their dying brothers;
From their pale lips caught the sigh--
The _flame_ of their hearts heroic,
From the flash of each closing eye!
Up! Up! for the time is pressing,
The red waves close around;--
They will lift us on their billows
If our hearts are faithful found!
They will lift us high--exultant,
And the craven world shall see
The Ark of a ransomed people
Afloat on the crimson sea!
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