Lie smouldering on the sod!
Not--while our houseless women
Send up wild wails to God!
Not--while the mad fanatic
Strews ruin on his track!
_Dare_ any Southron give the rein
To feeling, and look back!

No! Still the cry is "onward!"
This is no time for tears;
No I Still the word is "vengeance!"
Leave ruth for coming years.
We will snatch thy glorious banner
From thy dead and stiffening hand,
And high, 'mid battle's deadly storm,
We'll bear it through the land.

And all who mark it streaming--
Oh! soldier of the cross!--
Shall gird them with a fresh resolve
Sternly to avenge our loss;
Whilst thou, enrolled a martyr,
Thy sacred mission shown,
Shalt lay the record of our wrongs
Before the Eternal throne!




Beaufort.