The Weekly Pioneer And Democrat

[From the London Spectator]

The Hour of Northern Victory

Roll not a drum, pour not a clarion note
Of haughty triumph to the silent sky:
Hush'd be the shout of joy in every throat,
And veil'd the flash of pride in every eye.
Not with Te Deums loud and high Hosannas
Greet we the awful victory we have won,
But with our army rever'd and lowered banners
We stand—our work is done!

Thy work is done, God, terrible and just,
Who laid'st upon our hearts and hands this task,
And kneeling, with our foreheads in the dust,
We venture peace to ask.

Bleeding and writhing underneath our sword
Prostrate our brethren lie; Thy fallen five
Struck down by Thee through us, avenging Lord,
By Thy dread hand laid low.

For our own guilt have we been doomed to smite
These our own kindred, Thy great law defying;
These our own flesh and blood who now unite
In one thing only with us—bravely dying.

Dying how bravely, yet how bitterly
Not for the better side, for the worse,
Blindly and madly striving against Thee
For the bad cause where Thou hast set Thy curse.

At whose defeat we may no more upraise
Our voice, save in the deep thanksgiving of our prayers:
"Lord! we have fought the night!" But to rejoice
Is ours no more than theirs.

Call back Thy dreadful ministers of wrath
Who have led on our hosts to this great day;
Let our feet halt now in the avenger's path,
And bid our weapons stay.

Upon our land, Freedom's inheritance,
Turn Thou once more the splendour of Thy face;
Where nations serving Thee to light advance,
Give us again our place.

Not our bewildering past prosperity,
Not in Thy former unrequited grace,
But this one boon—Oh! grant us still to be
The home of Hope to the whole human race.

24th April, 1865.

FANNY KEMBLE.