If leader stay the vengeance-rod,
Let him beware the wrath of God;
The maddened millions long his trust
Will crush his puny bones to dust,
And all the law to guide their ire
Will be the law of blood and fire.
Come, then--the shattered ranks implore--
A million more--a million more!
Form and file and file and form;
This war is but God's thunder-storm
To purify our cankered land
And strike the fetter from the hand.
Forced by grim fate our Chief at last
Shall blow dear Freedom's bugle-blast;
And then shall rise from shore to shore
Four millions more--four millions more.[CS]
[CS] There were four millions of slaves in the South when the war began.
ON READING PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S LETTER
To Horace Greeley, of date Aug. 22, 1862--"If I could save the Union
without freeing any slave, I would do it," etc.
Perish the power that, bowed to dust,
Still wields a tyrant's rod--
That dares not even then be just,
And leave the rest with God.
THE DYING VETERAN
All-day-long the crash of cannon
Shook the battle-covered plain;
All-day-long the frenzied foemen
Dashed against our lines in vain;
All the field was piled with slaughter;
Now the lurid setting sun
Saw our foes in wild disorder,
And the bloody day was won.
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