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Page 50
She bends not to her foes, nor to the world,
She bears a heart for glory, or for gloom;
But with her starry cross, her flag unfurled,
She kneels amid the sweet magnolia bloom.
She kneels to Thee, O God, she claims her birth,
She lifts to Thee her young and trusting eye,
She asks of Thee her place upon the earth--
For it is Thine to give or to deny.
Oh, let _Thine_ eye but recognize her right!
Oh, let _Thy_ voice but justify her claim!
Like grasshoppers are nations in Thy sight,
And all their power is but an empty name,
Then listen, Father, listen to her prayer!
Her robes are dripping with her children's blood;
Her foes around "like bulls of Bashan stare,"
They fain would sweep her off, "as with a flood."
The anguish wraps her close around, like death,
Her children lie in heaps about her slain;
Before the world she bravely holds her breath,
Nor gives one utterance to a note of pain.
But 'tis not like Thee to forget the oppressed,
Thou feel'st within her heart the stifled moan--
Thou Christ! Thou Lamb of God! oh, give her rest!
For Thou hast called her!--is she not Thine own?
President Davis.
By Jane T. H. Cross.
Published in the New York News, 1865.
The cell is lonely, and the night
Has filled it with a darker gloom;
The little rays of friendly light,
Which through each crack and chink found room
To press in with their noiseless feet,
All merciful and fleet,
And bring, like Noah's trembling dove,
God's silent messages of love--
These, too, are gone,
Shut out, and gone,
And that great heart is left alone.
Alone, with darkness and with woe,
Around him Freedom's temple lies,
Its arches crushed, its columns low,
The night-wind through its ruin sighs;
Rash, cruel hands that temple razed,
Then stood the world amazed!
And now those hands--ah, ruthless deeds!
Their captive pierce--his brave heart bleeds;
And yet no groan
Is heard, no groan!
He suffers silently, alone.
For all his bright and happy home,
He has that cell, so drear and dark,
The narrow walls, for heaven's blue dome,
The clank of chains, for song of lark;
And for the grateful voice of friends--
That voice which ever lends
Its charm where human hearts are found--
He hears the key's dull, grating sound;
No heart is near,
No kind heart near,
No sigh of sympathy, no tear!
Oh, dream not thus, thou true and good!
Unnumbered hearts on thee await,
By thee invisibly have stood,
Have crowded through thy prison-gate;
Nor dungeon bolts, nor dungeon bars,
Nor floating "stripes and stars,"
Nor glittering gun or bayonet,
Can ever cause us to forget
Our faith to thee,
Our love to thee,
Thou glorious soul! thou strong! _thou free!_
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