 | War-lyrics and other poems |  |
COMING.
(April, 1861.)
World, art thou 'ware of a storm?
Hark to the ominous sound,
How the far-off gales their battle form,
And the great sea swells feel ground!
Hark to the ominous sound,
How the far-off gales their battle form,
And the great sea swells feel ground!
It comes, the Typhoon of Death—
Near and nearer it comes!
The horizon thunder of cannon-breath
And the roar of angry drums!
Near and nearer it comes!
The horizon thunder of cannon-breath
And the roar of angry drums!
Hurtle, Terror sublime!
Swoop o'er the Land, to-day—
So the mist of wrong and crime,
The breath of our Evil Time,
Be swept, as by fire, away!
Swoop o'er the Land, to-day—
So the mist of wrong and crime,
The breath of our Evil Time,
Be swept, as by fire, away!
| War-lyrics and other poems | |