Part 12

So in these days God looks from heaven, And marks his servants' woe; Hear ye his voice: "Break every yoke, And let my people go!"

For them the Red-sea waves divide, The streams with crimson flow; Therefore we mourn for our first-born;-- Then let the people go.

They are not weak whom God befriends, He makes their cause His own; And they who fight against God's might Shall surely be o'erthrown.

THE PRICE OF VICTORY.

"A VICTORY!--a victory!" Is flashed across the wires; Speed, speed the news from State to State, Light up the signal fires! Let all the bells from all the towers A joyous peal ring out; We've gained a glorious victory, And put the foe to rout!

A mother heard the chiming bells; Her joy was mixed with pain. "Pray God," she said, "my gallant boy Be not among the slain!" Alas for her! that very hour Outstretched in death he lay, The color from his fair, young face Had scarcely passed away.

His nerveless hand still grasped the sword. He never more might wield, His eyes were sealed in dreamless sleep Upon that bloody field. The chestnut curls his mother oft Had stroked in fondest pride, Neglected hung in clotted locks, With deepest crimson dyed.

Ah! many a mother's heart shall ache, And bleed with anguish sore, When tidings come of him who marched So blithely forth to war. Oh! sad for them, the stricken down In manhood's early dawn, And sadder yet for loving hearts. God comfort them that mourn!

Yes, victory has a fearful price Our hearts may shrink to pay, And tears will mingle with the joy That greets a glorious day. But he who dies in freedom's cause, We cannot count him lost; A battle won for truth and right Is worth the blood it cost!

O mothers! count it something gained That they, for whom you mourn, Bequeath fair Freedom's heritage To millions yet unborn;-- And better than a thousand years Of base, ignoble breath, A patriot's fragrant memory, A hero's early death!

HARVARD ODES.

(SUNG AT ANNUAL DINNERS OF THE HARVARD CLUB

OF New York. NEW YORK.)

HARVARD ODES.

(Feb. 23, 1869.)

Fair Harvard, dear guide of our youth's golden days; At thy name all our hearts own a thrill, We turn from life's highways, its business, its cares, We are boys in thy tutelage still. And the warm blood of youth to our veins, as of yore, Returns with impetuous flow, Reviving the scenes and the hopes that were ours In the vanished, but sweet Long Ago.

Once more through thy walks, Alma Mater, we tread, And we dream youth's fair dreams once again, We are heroes in fight for the Just and the Right, We are knights without fear, without stain; Its doors in fair prospect the world opens wide, Its prizes seem easy to win,-- We are strong in our faith, we are bold in our might, And we long for the race to begin.

Though dimmed are our hopes, and our visions are fled, Our dreams were but dreams, it is true; Dust-stained from the contest we gather to-night, The sweet dreams of youth to renew. Enough for to-morrow the cares it shall bring, We are boys, we are brothers, to-night; And our hearts, warm with love, Alma Mater, to thee, Shall in loyal devotion unite.

II.

(Feb. 11, 1870.)

As we meet in thy name, Alma Mater, to-night, All our hearts and our hopes are as one, And love for the mother that nurtured his youth Beats high in the breast of each son. The sweet chords of Memory bridge o'er the Past, The years fade away like a dream, By the banks of Cephissus, beneath the green trees, We tread thy fair walks, Academe.

The heights of Hymettus that bound the near view Fill the air with an odor as sweet As the beautiful clusters of sun-tinted grapes From the vineyards that lie at our feet. O realm of enchantment, O Wonderful land, Where the gods hold high converse with men, Come out from the dusk of past ages once more, And live in our fancy again.

Let us drink to the Past as our glasses we lift, Let eye speak to eye, heart to heart, Let the bonds of sweet fellowship bind each to each, In the hours that remain ere we part. And thou, Alma Mater, grown fairer with age, Let us echo the blessing that fell From thy motherly lips, as we stood at thy side, And thou bad'st us God-speed and Farewell.

III.

(Feb. 21, 1872.)

Fair Harvard, the months have accomplished their round And a year stands full-orbed and complete, Since last at thy summons, with dutiful hearts, Thy children sat here at thy feet. Since last in thy presence, grown youthful once more, We drank to the past and its joys, Shaking off every care that encumbered our years, And dreamed that again we were boys.

To-night once again in thy presence we meet In the freshness and flush of life's spring; We wait but thy blessing, we ask but thy smile, As our sails to the free air we fling. The winds breathe auspicious that waft us along, The sky, undisturbed, smiles serene, Hope stands at the prow, and the waters gleam bright With sparkles of silvery sheen.

And thy voice, Alma Mater, so potent and sweet, Still sounds in our ears as of yore, And thy motherly counsel we hear, wisdom-fraught, As we push our frail barks from the shore. From the foam-crested waves of the mountainous sea As backward our glances we strain, We see the dear face of our mother benign, And bless her again and again.