The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1886-11-25
THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE WASHINGTON c. THURSDAY 49,

back over the year to remember what
Browning mercies Of the Lord had blest
the land, and with what judgments he had
scourged it, unused upon a trail of awful
carnage that stretched from the Wilderness
10 the Weldon Railroad, with the probability
Of like one reaching God only knew where;
upon Sigel and Hunter beaten back in the
Shenandoah Valley, followed by an over
whelming Union victory at Cedar Creek. In
the Southwest q shameful misfortune had
befallen our arms. But the navy had done
gloriously at Mobile, Sherman's long cam
paign against Atlanta had been splendidly
successful, and now he was sweeping tor
nado of war through Georgia to the sea.
Before the Thanksgiving sermons were TO
grow dim in the memories of those who
heard them, Hood was to shatter his force in
fierce assaults upon the Army Of the Ohio ut
Franklin and his complete destruction ensue
ere the bells in the Northern steepIes rang
the chimes Of Christmas.
Thanksgiving Day 1865 was infinitely the
happiest one that the Giver of all good
things ever vouchsafed to this Nation. Then
every foe who had lifted his hand against
the Nations life was dead or disarmed,
every flag that had waved defiance to the
Star-Spangled Banner was furled in acknowl-
edged defeat, every foot of ground held By
an enemy was in undisputed possession OF
the Government, every slave who had
groaned in letters that it was thought only
death could loosen was now free and clothed
with all the rights of manhood The sur
vivors of the millions of men who had fought
through the long struggle for freedom and
the National life were once more citizens
in their own homes, and enjoying the sweets
of well-won victory and peace. The glad
ness of the happy day was sweetly sung by
John G. Whittier in one of his noblest Tyr
les:
Thank God for rest where none modest,
| And none can make afraid;
For Peace that sits as Plentys guest,
Beneath the homestead's shade.
Bring pike and gun, the swords red scourge,
| The negros broken chains,
And beat them at the blaeksmith's forge
To plowshares for our plains.
Alike henceforth our hills OF snow,
And wales where cotton flowers.
All streams that flow, all winds that blow,
Are Freedoms moiive-powers.
Henceforth TO Iabor's ehivalry
BE knghily honors paid,
For nobler than the swords shall be
The siclIle's acoolade.
Build up an altar to the Lord.
grateful hearts Of ours!
And shape il of the greenes; sward
That ever drank the showers.
Lay all the bloom OF gardens there.
Aud there the orchard fruits;
Bring golden grain from sun and air,
From earth her goodly roots.
There Let our banners droop and flow,
The stars uprise and fall;
Oar roll Of martyrs sad and slow.
Let signing breezes call.
Their names LET hands Of horn and tan
And rough-shod feet applaud,
Who died TO make the slave a man,
And link with toll reward.
There LET the common heart keep time
To such an anthem sung
As never swclled on poets rhyme.
Or thrilled on sinners tongue.
Song OF our burden and relief,
OF peace and long annoy;
The passion Of our mighty grief
And our exceeding joy!
A song OF praise 10 Him who filed
The harvcsts sown in tears.
And gave each field n double yield
To feed our battlc-years!
A song Of faith that trusts the end
To match the good begun,
Nor doubts The power Of Love TO blend
The hearts Of men one!