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Page 29
That, for the songs of idle joy
False angels sang of yore,
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,
Thou lov'st a mourner's cries.
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
Fond fools, of yore, to love;
Give us Thy vengeance as our own--
Thy pity, hide above!
Teach us to turn, with reeking hands,
The pages of Thy word,
And learn 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,
We'll kneel again--and pray!
Sonnet.
Charleston Mercury.
Man makes his own dread fates, and these in turn
Create his tyrants. In our lust and passion,
Our appetite and ignorance, he springs.
The creature of our need as our desert,
The scourge that whips us for decaying virtue,
He chastens to reform us! Never yet,
In mortal life, did tyrant rise to power,
But in the people's worst infirmities
Of crime and greed. The creature of our vices,
The loathsome ulcer of our vicious moods,
He is decreed their proper punishment.
Marching to Death.
By J. Herbert Sass, of South Carolina.
1862.
"The National Quarterly depicts a remarkable scene, which occurred some
years since on one of the British transport ships. The commander of the
troops on board, seeing that the vessel must soon sink, and that there was
no hope of saving his men, drew them up in order of battle, and, as in the
presence of a human enemy, bravely faced the doom that was before them. We
know of no more impressive illustration of the power of military
discipline in the presence of death."
I.
The last farewells are breathed by loving lips,
The last fond prayer for darling ones is said,
And o'er each heart stern sorrow's dark eclipse
Her sable pall hath spread.
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