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Page 80
Sing of the noble nation
Fierce struggling to be free;
Sing of the brave who barter
Their lives for liberty!
II.
Weep for the maid and matron
Who mourn their loved ones slain;
Sigh for the light departed,
Never to shine again:
'Tis the voice of Rachel weeping,
That never will comfort know;
'Tis the wail of desolation,
The breaking of hearts in woe!
III.
Ah! the blood of Abel crieth
For vengeance from the sod!
'Tis a brother's hand that's lifted
In the face of an angry God!
Oh! brother of the Northland,
We plead from our father's grave;
We strike for our homes and altars,
He fought to build and save!
A smouldering fire is burning,
The Southern heart is steeled--
Perhaps 'twill break in dying,
But never will it yield.
Sonnet.
By Paul H. Hayne.
Rise from your gory ashes stern and pale,
Ye martyred thousands! and with dreadful ire,
A voice of doom, a front of gloomy fire,
Rebuke those faithless souls, whose querulous wail
Disturbs your sacred sleep!--"The withering hail
Of battle, hunger, pestilence, despair,
Whatever of mortal anguish man may bear,
We bore unmurmuring! strengthened by the mail
Of a most holy purpose!--then we died!--
Vex not our rest by cries of selfish pain,
But to the noblest measure of your powers
Endure the appointed trial! Griefs defied,
But launch their threatening thunderbolts in vain,
And angry storms pass by in gentlest showers!"
Hospital Duties.
Charleston Courier.
Fold away all your bright-tinted dresses,
Turn the key on your jewels to-day,
And the wealth of your tendril-like tresses
Braid back in a serious way;
No more delicate gloves, no more laces,
No more trifling in boudoir or bower,
But come with your souls in your faces
To meet the stern wants of the hour.
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