Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1869-01-01
he daughters of lov'd Zion sit

LIZ dl10uS, dud N1uG,
With bounded hands and shackled feet
They're slaves. Disconsolate they weep
For Israefs broken, captured crown.
Will God his wrathful promise keep?
Will He look still with Heavenly frown?
To answer this you may demand,
Our pen should sketch the fam'd Cape Fear
Or roam about our ioyless land,
| And paint the maiden's falling tear
| To memories gone but never dead,
| To feelings of the hand and heart,
| To cherished hopes that now are fled,
Though bright in memory is their part.
XIV.
All how are we whose rosy prime
Was ever, yes, the spring of bliss,
Before our tyrants fostered crime,
Before old serpent gave his hiss,
New England here her hirelings hurled
With hearts surcharged with deadly ire,
For US not only but the world
To hate, to curse. They ne'er essayed
To win the souls of erring men
O not to God-To whom they prayed,
Both you, and I, Tn sure can ken.
BLESSED days of peace ! No vlper's tooth
Was then stuck deeply in the land,
No thorn, but beauty, truth and youth
No lust of power, no greedy hand.
No strife, nor grief, nor blood, nor pain.
No demons tongue to spread discord,
No pending sword with guilty stain,
No Congress for a sovereign lord,
No Earring word of direful hate,
No upstairs cry at slavery's beck,
No Holden Governor of State,
No fortunes then total wreck.
XIV.
BLESSED day of peace Well these forget,
Our joys we'll freshen at thy shrine,
Our tears we'll mingle with regret
To thee, dear Saviour God divine
Well pray Dispel this cherries gloom
That darkens DER our land those years
Let cypress dropping DER the tomb
Well tell the tale without our tears
How heroes struggled, bled and died,
For homes, for rights of fatherland.
They never wavered, ever cried,
Our South, our South, our mother grand
This thrilled them till their brave decease-
In Hollywood's thrice sacred ground
Their Wondering bones now rest in peace
In Oakdale's dedicated mound.
XVI.
She's Greece bit Hring Greece ,eo more.
Our South SO street, SO deadly fair,
Yet in her chains we love her more,
That love no foe from US can tear.
All, yes, Our South fair Southern cline
OF genial suns and hearts sincere:
And We Will cherish it till Time
Shall end, at last, our life's career"
Stonewall, johnson, Ashby, three
Bright stars, indeed a galaxy,
And Claiborne, too, sans tnche, sans PEN,
An index ever to victory
Stuart, Virginia's great sdbrem'-
Whose fame is of the world wide,
And Whiting to the cold North State"
By fondest mourning memories tied
All heroes by decree of fate.
But stop! Enough Wo'll not display
A host that's gone and left name
To live forever dazzling ray
Upon the crimson page of fame.
Will beauty weep the honored braves
Deny them, despots, wrapt in clay,
The garlands lovely on their graves ?
No, no, they could not stay the boon
Of scattering tiowerets on their tomb.
XVII.
All, let US turn away from this
Sad picture of the painful past
Stoop down, imprint the gentle kiss,
Messiah here he's born at last.
O glorious day o Christmas feast
An olive to the weary soul,
Well wear the Christmas smile at least,
And sing, and drink joys flowing bowl.
Well send across the land and wave
Glad tidings unto every mind,
Till every nighted-so we II save,
Till Christ has every heart entwin'd.
Let fragrance from the rose distill'd,
As SAVIOR sweet ascend the skies,
Let every breast with it be filrd,
And every voice in praise arise.
Do not forget the Newsboy's tread,
Which sounds each morning at the door,
Who, rain or hail, must earn his bread
The wages of the hOneSt poor;