II.

O eye, thou canst discern the light and flame!
O eagle spirit, fit for high career!
True thou continuest to thine early fame,
And art, as erst, the people's pioneer,
Across the desert teaching it to steer;
'Mid all the terrors of our time, the same

As when through mountain cloud-rack, void of

fear,

Thou held'st toward lands of gold high-hearted

aim.

O'er darker desert now and craggier peak,
Stormed on, alas! with a more blinding snow,
And buffeted by winds more bitter bleak,
Thine eye, thy footstep must before us go
To lands with joy of justice all aglow-

To lands of which all hopes and prophets

speak.

D. A. W.

*

THE SOLDIER OF THE CROSS.*

DOWN from the hill where earthly dross

Ne'er stained the sacred feet,

The veteran soldier of the Cross
Unfurls our standard sheet!
Far from the bosom of his fold,
Armed with his shepherd-rod,
He follows, like the patriarch old,
The angel of his God!

Through camp and field he boldly leads

The willing servants on,
And foremost to the battle speeds
God's own anointed one;
Tread lightly, O unholy band !—
This-this is "hallowed ground;"
Tread lightly-'tis our native land,
And angels camp around!

Where once our patriot fathers trod,
For Freedom dear as then,
The priestly messenger to God

Stands forth with arméd men.

Suggested by Bishop Polk's appointment in the rebel army.

Like the fair sun, whose glorious light,

High in its heavenly birth,

Shines still more beautiful and bright,
Brought nearer down to earth.

So Zion's watchman, from her gates,
Comes forth with conquering shield,
And on the "God of armies" waits,
'Mid camp and battle-field!
There, beautiful and bright, he stands
Amid this martial strife,

Still pointing, with unspotted hands,
Up to the "higher life!”

God bless him to his country wide,
And to our soldiers bold,
Through tented camp may he abide,
The shepherd of the fold!
God spare him to his native land,
Untouched by earthly dross;
Still may the priestly leader stand,

The soldier of the Cross!

-Savannah News.

ANSWER TO "MY MARYLAND."*

BY W. H. C. HOSMER.

INVADED is thy sacred soil,

Maryland! Foes come for booty, blood, and spoil; Remember Howard, who beat back, At Cowpens, Tarleton's fierce attack, A chief that feared not ruin black,

Maryland! Our Maryland!

Last signer of our glory's scroll,

Maryland!

Was Carroll, of the dauntless soul,

Maryland!

Avenge the blood by heroes shed,
When Treason trampled on the dead,
And streets of Baltimore were red,

Maryland! Our Maryland!

The land that gave the nation Key,

Maryland!

Who sang the war-song of the Free,

Maryland

*See Rebel Rhymes and Rhapsodies, page 46.

While the sun rises in the east,

And patriots throng to Freedom's feast,
Shall be our poet and high-priest,

Maryland! Our Maryland!

When aimed our cannon in the fray,

Maryland!

Maryland!

Remembered on the battle-day,

Will be immortal Ringgold's name,

And Watson, noblest son of fame-
Fell treason they would brand with shame,
Maryland! Our Maryland!

One sword-stroke for the good old flag,

Maryland!

Down with secession's shameless rag,

Maryland!

The glorious Stars and Stripes uphold,
That over Yorktown were unrolled-
Oh! march beneath that banner fold,

Maryland! Our Maryland!

The land we fight for shall not fall,

Maryland!

While blown is Union's bugle call,

Maryland!