Des Arc weekly citizen., 1867-07-27
From the New York Freeman's Journal.
 PRAYER OF THE SOUTH.
BY THE REV. A. J. RYAN, AUTHOR ois THE
 CONQUERED BANNER"

And for my children pray, and formy foes. Beside the graves where thousands iowly lie, kneel---snd, weeping fer each slaughtered I turn my gaze to my own sunny sky. And pray, Oh Father, may thy will be done. My heart is filled with anguish, deep and vast; My hopes are buried with my childrens
 dust My joys have fcd-my tears are flowing fast :; In whom, save Thee, eur Father, shall I
 trust? An! forgot Thee, Father, long and oft, When l was happy, proud, and rich and
 free; But, conquered no%, and crushed, Hook aloft, And sorrow leads me, Father, back to Thee. Amid the wrecks that the foeman's path kneel-and, wailing Der my glorics gone, I still each thought of hate, each throb of
 wrath,
 And whisper Father let Thy will be doHe. Pity me, Father of the Dcsolate
  Look down in mercy on my wretched fate, And keep me, guard me with Thy loving
 care. Pity me, Father. for his holy sake. Whose broken Heart blcd at the feet of
 Grief, That hearts of earth, wherever they shall
 break, Might go to His, and find sure relief. An, me how dark Is this a brief eclipse Or is it Night, without To-morrew's Sun ? Oh, Father. Father! with my pale, sad lips, And saddcr heart, pray-Thy will be done. My homes arc joyhess, and s million mourn Where many met in joys forever flown; Whose hearts were light, arc hardened now,
 and lorn;
 Where many smiled but ono is left 10 mourn ; And ah the widows walls, the orphans cries, Arc morning hymn and vcsper chaut to me; And grosns of men and sounds of women's
 sigh's
 Commingle, Father, withmy prayer to Thee. Beneath my fee--ten thousand children dead : ohy how loved each known and nameless
 one, Abovc their ause bow my crowhfcss head, And dmurmur-Father still Thy will be done. An, Father, thou didst deck thy own loved With all bright charms and .cautifal and
 fair; But foemcn came, and with q ruthless hand Spread ruin, and dcsolation there. Girdled with gloom--of all my brightness
 shorn,
 And garmentcd with grief I kiss Thy rod ; And turn my face, with tears all wet and
 worn,
 To catch one smile of pity from my God. Around me blight, where all before was bloom, And so much lost-alas and nothing won i; Save this--that can lean on wreck and tomb, And weep--and weeping pray-Thy will be
 denc. And oh. 'tis hard to say-but sad, lis sweet The words are bttor, but they hold bain !; balm that heals the wounds of my defeat, And lulls my sorrow into holy calm. It is the prayer of Prayers how il brings When heard in heaven, peace and hope to
 me; When Jesus prayed it, did not angels wings Clean mid the darkness of Gethsemane? My children, Father, Thy forgiveness need Alas, their hearts have only place fcr tears; Forgive them, Father, every wrongful deed And every sin of these four bloody years. And give them strength to bear their bonnd
 less Loss,
 And from their hetrts take every though,
 of hate; And while they climb their Calvary with their
 Cross,
 Oh. help them, Father, to endure it's weight. And for my Dead, my Father, may I prays An! sighs may soothc, bat prayers shall
 sooihe mo more, I keep eternal watch above their clay Oh! rest their souls, my Father, implore Forgive my foes--they know not what they do Forgive them all the tears they made me
 shed, Forgive them--thcugh my noblcs, sons they And bless them-though they eurscmy poor
 dear Dead Oh! may my woes be each carrier dove With swift, white wings, that, bathing in
 my tears, Will bear Thee, Father, all my prayers love, And bring me peace in all my doubts and
 fears. Fatherl l kneel mid ruin, wreck and grave, A desert waste--where all was erst co fair; And for my children and my foes crave Pity and pardon Father. hear my prayer tas- Children are queer customers Whatever one don't expect them to say they are pretty sure to bolt out. The last is of boy of six summers, who surprised his mother with the re- mark:
 q have three fathersl" "Who are they?' was the material inquiry.
 My father who buys me clothes is one, George Washington, the father of country, is another, and our Father who art in Heaven is another Mamma drew . breath of relief.
 The cholera is reported by the British medical journals to be prevailing