SOLDIERS' AND SAILORS'
PATRIOTIC SONGS AND HYMNS.'
THE TWELFTH OF APRIL, A.D. 1861.
BY EDMUND C. STEDMAN.
Came the morning of that day,
When the God, to whom we pray,
Gave the soul of Henry Clay-
To the land ;
How we loved him—living, dying !
But his birthday banners flying,
Saw us asking and replying,
Hand to hand.
For we knew that far away,
Round the fort in Charleston bay,
Eung the dark impending fray,
Soon to fall;
And that Sumter's brave defender
Had the summons to surrender
Seventy loyal hearts and tender—
That was all.
And we knew the April sun
Lit the length of many a gun—
Hosts of batteries to the one
Guns and mortars grimly frowning,
Johnson, Moultrie, Pinckney, crowning,
And ten thousand men disowning
The old flag.
Oh ! the fury of the fight
Even then was at its height!
Yet no breath, from noon till night,
Reached us here;
We had almost ceased to wonder,
And the day had faded under,
When—the echo of the thunder
Filled each ear!
Then our hearts more fiercely beat,
As we crowded on the street,
Hot to gather and repeat
All the tale;
All the doubtful chances turning,
Till our souls with shame were burning,
As if twice our bitter yearning
Could avail 1
Who had fired the earliest gun ?
Was the fort by traitors won ?
Was there succor ? What was done
Who could know ?
And once more our thoughts would wander
To the gallant, lone commander,
On his battered ramparts, grander
Than the foe.
Not too long the brave shall wait:
On their own heads be their fate,
Who against the hallowed State
Dare begin ;
Flag defied, and compact riven !
In the record of high Heaven,
How shall Southern men be shriven
For the sin ?
OUR COUNTRY'S CALL.
BT WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
Lay down the axe, fling by the spade;
Leave in its track the toiling plough;
The rifle and the bayonet-blade
For arms like yours were fitter now:
And let the hands that ply the pen
Quit the light task, and learn to wield
The horseman's crooked brand, and rein
The charger on the battle-field.
Our country calls : away ! away!
To where the blood-stream blots the green.
Strike to defend the gentlest sway
That Time in all his course has seen.
See, from a thousand coverts—see
Spring the armed foes that haunt her track:
They rush to smite her down, and we
Must beat the banded traitors back.
Ho ! sturdy as th? oaks ye cleave,
And moved as Soon to fear and flight,'
Men of the glade and forest! leave
Your woodcraft for the field of fio-ht.
The arms that wield the axe must pour
An iron tempest on the foe •
* Selected by permission from the " Lyrics of Loyalty." and " Sonas of the Soldiers," edited by