THE HOUR OF NORTHERN VICTORY.
Rom. not a drum, sound not a clarion-note Of haughty triumph to the silent sky ; lIuah'd be the shout of joy in ev'ry throat, And veird the flash of pride in ev'ry eye.
Not with Te Dennis loud and high Hosannas, Greet we the awful victory we have won, But with our arms revers'd and lower'd banners We stand—our work is done !
Thy work is done, God, terrible and just, Who lay'dst 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 foe, 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 laws 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, but for the worse, Blindly and madly striving against Thee For the bad cause where thou hest set Thy curse.
At whose defeat we may not raise our voice, Save in the deep thanksgiving of our prayeri, "Lord! we have fought the fight ! " 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 all thy former ill-requited grace, But this one boon—Oh! grant us still to be The home of Hope to the whole human race.
25th April, 1865.