 | War poets of the South and Confederate camp-fire songs. |  |
THE CONFEDERACY.
Born in a day, full grown, our Nation stood,
The pearly light of heaven was in her face;
Life's early joy was coursing in her blood,
A thing she was of beauty and of grace.
The pearly light of heaven was in her face;
Life's early joy was coursing in her blood,
A thing she was of beauty and of grace.
She stood, a stranger on the great broad earth;
No voice of sympathy was heard to greet
The glory-beaming morning of her birth,
Or hail the coming of the unsoiled feet.
No voice of sympathy was heard to greet
The glory-beaming morning of her birth,
Or hail the coming of the unsoiled feet.
She stood, derided by her passing foes;
Her heart beat calmly 'neath their look of scorn;
Their rage in blackening billows round her rose—
Her brow, meanwhile, as radiant as the morn.
Her heart beat calmly 'neath their look of scorn;
Their rage in blackening billows round her rose—
Her brow, meanwhile, as radiant as the morn.
48
Their poisonous coils about her limbs are cast;
She shakes them off in pure and holy ire,
As quietly as Paul, in ages past,
Shook off the serpent in the crackling fire.
She shakes them off in pure and holy ire,
As quietly as Paul, in ages past,
Shook off the serpent in the crackling fire.
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 her sweet magnolia bloom.
She bears a heart for glory, or for gloom;
But with her starry cross, her flag unfurled,
She kneels amid her 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.
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.
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."
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."
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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.
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?
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?
| War poets of the South and Confederate camp-fire songs. | |