THE PESTILENCE—1878.
O'er the Southwest's tropic beauty, Swept the cold grim hand of Death,Came the yellow simoom filling; All the land with poisonous breath.Slowly creeping to the hearthstones, Where the brightest and the best,Filled the home with mirth and gladness, Sweetest joy and happiness.
Oh! the anguished moans of sorrow, From the mother's lips that came,When one by one her tiny nestlings, Burned beneath its wasting flame.And the bride of yesterday, Gay with marriage robe and wreath,Left the strong true arms that held her, For the cold embrace of Death.
Oh! a great and awful stillness, Shadowed all the weary land,All the avenues of Commerce, Shut by that devouring hand.
