The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1870-04-30
Press versus Cannon.
The cannon and the press! how they ban
By AGRICOLA.

The cannon and the press! how they ban
how they bless
This beautiful planet of ours
The first by the sleight Of its terrible might
The other by holier powers.
More and more they are foes, as the new
| spirit grows
VIII their struggle bring joy to the free
For the wrongful and right-for the dark
ness and light
| Which shall the conqueror be-
With a war-waking note from its sulphur
Gus throat,
The cannon insulteth the day,
And tlingeth about, with a flash and
shout.
The death-bolts that deepen the fray:
"Give me slaughter" it cries, as i
booms to the skies,
And men turn to tiends at the sound;
/ Till the sun dreppeth dun, and the battl,
is won,
And carnage encumbers the ground.
! Then the reveller reels, and the plundere
steals
! Like snake through the horrible gloom
Then the maid is defiled, and the widow i
wild,
AS she fathoms the depth of her doom;
Fierce fires light the gloam, till the nights
| starry dome
| Seems to blush at the doings of wrong;
! Sounds of terror and woe, through the
skies madened flow,
With fury, and laughter, and song!
/ When the morrow's fair face looketh down
! on the place,
All sodden and trampled with strife.
On the grass and the grain, empurpleC
with rain
! life;
The stream runneth red, and the swallows
| have fled.
| That SKINNED DER its sparkling wave
| For the battle hath ragged on this war
| crimsoned stage,
And Strewn here the Young and tho
| brave!
Reeking ruins abound on the battle scathec
ground,
In whose ashes sit shapes of dispair,
And the voices of wall float far on the
gale,
Till the brute is APPALLED, in his lair:
! On the broad battle floor, in their cerement,
of gore,
Lie thousands whose conflict is past.
To furnish feast for the bird and the
beast
To tester and bleach in the blast
But the cries of the sad, and the shouts Of
the mad,
And the blood that ensanguies the sod,
And the prayers of the crowd-solemn,
earnest, and loud
Together go up unto God!
Nor in vain do they rise-for the good and
the wise,
And the gifted of spirit and speech,
Are waking the lands to more holy COM
mandS;
For peace is the lesson they teach
Behold the press. how it labors to bless,
By the numberless tones of it's voice!
To lofty and low its grand harmonies flow,
And multitudes hear ard rejoice;
Scarce an alley of gloom, scarce an artizans
room,
Scarce heart in the fields or the mine.
Scarce a soul that is dark, but receiveth q
spark
OF its spirit so vast and divine.
The cannon lays waste, but the press
maketh haste
To enlighten, uplift, and renew:
And the life of its lore-can we languisll
lOI illoIe
Is the beautiful, peaceful, and true.
Man bringeth his thought, i'll calm soitudes
wrought,
To be multiplied, scattered and sown-
And the seed that oday droppeth down by
the way,
Tomorrow is fruitful and grown.
Joy, JOY to the world. press and people
have hurled
Their sings 'gainst errors of old;
One by one. as they fall, poor children Of
thrall
Grow dlgnified, gladstone, and bold.
The cannon and sw0rd-cruel, cursed, anG
abhorred-
Cannot stay the proud march of the free
They may ban and beguile the rude nation.
awhile,
But the PRESS will the conqueror be,