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THE PESTILENCE—1878.
They in Heaven a glorious crowning, From the Father's hand receive,For they followed in His footsteps, Who had known all earthly grief.Oh! the columned smoke of battle, Rolled away in Heaven's blue,And the blood of brethren blended, On the bunch-grass wet with dew,
Glows no more, no more there rankles, In brave Southern hearts the bane,Of any smouldering fire of passion, That a breath shall fan to flame.For the breaches of the old-time, That red-handed War had made,All were bridged by Northern hands, And the graves that newly made,Hold the remnants of that struggle, Blue and gray together laid,In that darkened time of terror, Were wreathed with bays that never fade.
Tears of anguish wrung from hearts, That had wept their fountains dry,And the lands that held apart, Joined hand and heart that day.From the North, the white sail drifted, Bearing healing on its wing,Freighted with the cooling nectar, The sufferer's boon of blessing.
