108 A Voice of the Loyal North

WE sing “Our Country’s” song to-night

With saddened voice and eye;

Her banner droops in clouded light

Beneath the wintry sky.

We ’ll pledge her once in golden wine

Before her stars have set:

Though dim one reddening orb may shine,

We have a Country yet.

’T were vain to sigh o’er errors past,

The fault of sires or sons;

Our soldier heard the threatening blast,

And spiked his useless guns;

He saw the star-wreathed ensign fall,

By mad invaders torn;

But saw it from the bastioned wall

That laughed their rage to scorn!

What though their angry cry is flung

Across the howling wave,—

They smite the air with idle tongue

The gathering storm who brave;

Enough of speech! the trumpet rings;

Be silent, patient, calm,—

God help them if the tempest swings

The pine against the palm!

Our toilsome years have made us tame;

Our strength has slept unfelt;

The furnace-fire is slow to flame

That bids our ploughshares melt;

’T is hard to lose the bread they win

In spite of Nature’s frowns,—

To drop the iron threads we spin

That weave our web of towns,

To see the rusting turbines stand

Before the emptied flumes,

To fold the arms that flood the land

With rivers from their looms,—

But harder still for those who learn

The truth forgot so long;

When once their slumbering passions burn,

The peaceful are the strong!

The Lord have mercy on the weak,

And calm their frenzied ire,

And save our brothers ere they shriek,

“We played with Northern fire!”

The eagle hold his mountain height,—

The tiger pace his den!

Give all their country, each his right!

God keep us all! Amen!

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