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Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 6. (ed. Frank Moore).

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Mars (search for this): chapter 1
tars might cry; “You do not feel his worth below; Your petty great men do not try The measure of his mind to know. “Send him to us-this is his place, Not 'mid your puny jealousies; You sacrificed him in your race Of envies, strifes and policies. “His eye could pierce our vast expanse, His ear could hear our morning songs, His mind, amid our mystic dance, Could follow all our myriad throngs. ”Send him to us! no martyr's soul, No hero slain in righteous wars, No raptured saint could e'er control A holier welcome from the stars. “ Take him, ye stars! take him on high, To your vast realms of boundless space; But once he turned from you to try His name on martial scrolls to trace. That once was when his country's call Said danger to her flag was nigh, And then that banner's stars dimmed all The radiant lights which gemmed the sky. Take him, loved orbs! His country's life, Freedom for all — for these he wars; For these he welcomed bloody strife, And followed in the wake of M
Mitchel (search for this): chapter 1
1. Mitchel. by W. Francis Williams. Hung be the heavens with black. His mighty life was burned away By Carolina's fiery sun; The pestilence that walks by day Smote him before his course seemed run. The constellations of the sky, The Pleiades, the Southern Cross, Looked sadly down to see him die, To see a nation weep his loss. “Send him to us,” the stars might cry; “You do not feel his worth below; Your petty great men do not try The measure of his mind to know. “Send him to us-this is his place, Not 'mid your puny jealousies; You sacrificed him in your race Of envies, strifes and policies. “His eye could pierce our vast expanse, His ear could hear our morning songs, His mind, amid our mystic dance, Could follow all our myriad throngs. ”Send him to us! no martyr's soul, No hero slain in righteous wars, No raptured saint could e'er control A holier welcome from the stars. “ Take him, ye stars! take him on high, To your vast realms of boundless space; But onc
W. Francis Williams (search for this): chapter 1
1. Mitchel. by W. Francis Williams. Hung be the heavens with black. His mighty life was burned away By Carolina's fiery sun; The pestilence that walks by day Smote him before his course seemed run. The constellations of the sky, The Pleiades, the Southern Cross, Looked sadly down to see him die, To see a nation weep his loss. “Send him to us,” the stars might cry; “You do not feel his worth below; Your petty great men do not try The measure of his mind to know. “Send him to us-this is his place, Not 'mid your puny jealousies; You sacrificed him in your race Of envies, strifes and policies. “His eye could pierce our vast expanse, His ear could hear our morning songs, His mind, amid our mystic dance, Could follow all our myriad throngs. ”Send him to us! no martyr's soul, No hero slain in righteous wars, No raptured saint could e'er control A holier welcome from the stars. “ Take him, ye stars! take him on high, To your vast realms of boundless space; But onc
Carolina City (North Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
1. Mitchel. by W. Francis Williams. Hung be the heavens with black. His mighty life was burned away By Carolina's fiery sun; The pestilence that walks by day Smote him before his course seemed run. The constellations of the sky, The Pleiades, the Southern Cross, Looked sadly down to see him die, To see a nation weep his loss. “Send him to us,” the stars might cry; “You do not feel his worth below; Your petty great men do not try The measure of his mind to know. “Send him to us-this is his place, Not 'mid your puny jealousies; You sacrificed him in your race Of envies, strifes and policies. “His eye could pierce our vast expanse, His ear could hear our morning songs, His mind, amid our mystic dance, Could follow all our myriad throngs. ”Send him to us! no martyr's soul, No hero slain in righteous wars, No raptured saint could e'er control A holier welcome from the stars. “ Take him, ye stars! take him on high, To your vast realms of boundless space; But once
North (search for this): chapter 2
very thing of victory tells, Hearts of millions yearn to hear. Price is taken, now, at last! Donelson has fallen low! God be praised! the die is cast! Vengeance falleth on the foe! God be praised! His arm of wrath Strikes for us this mighty blow-- Leads us on the battle-path-- Stanches, guides its crimson flow. God be praised! for soon our land, Groaning and convulsed so long, As in olden time shall stand, Union--Freedom blend their song! Listen! Hear the sighing gale Coming up from South to North, While a lengthened answering wail Comes from every quarter forth! Is it widows' hopeless sighs That create the wailing wind? Is it orphan children's cries For the prisoners Death doth bind? That we conquer cannot bring Loved and lost ones back to life-- That Right conquers, Glory sings O'er the field of deadly strife; That Right conquers still, shall be Balm for hearts with deepest wound, And this thought eternally Sanctifies the battle-ground! Bunker Hill, ill., Feb. 17, 1862.
Price (search for this): chapter 2
er Missouri's fated soil, Making one vast grave her sod While her rivers seethe and boil? Listen! No! It is the boom Of the cannon's fearful notes, While the wreaths of battle bloom All around their bellowing throats! Listen! No! It cannot be! Price is still in full retreat, And our troops in Tennessee Rebel arms shall ne'er defeat! Listen! Still the ceaseless roar Peals along the quivering air, From the city on the shore News of victory it must bear! Listen! Hear the loud hurrahs In the quiet village streets While the distant thunder jars-- Echo still with echo meets. Listen! Loudly peal the bells! Listen! Guns are thundering here! Every thing of victory tells, Hearts of millions yearn to hear. Price is taken, now, at last! Donelson has fallen low! God be praised! the die is cast! Vengeance falleth on the foe! God be praised! His arm of wrath Strikes for us this mighty blow-- Leads us on the battle-path-- Stanches, guides its crimson flow. God be praised! for soon our l
February 17th, 1862 AD (search for this): chapter 2
very thing of victory tells, Hearts of millions yearn to hear. Price is taken, now, at last! Donelson has fallen low! God be praised! the die is cast! Vengeance falleth on the foe! God be praised! His arm of wrath Strikes for us this mighty blow-- Leads us on the battle-path-- Stanches, guides its crimson flow. God be praised! for soon our land, Groaning and convulsed so long, As in olden time shall stand, Union--Freedom blend their song! Listen! Hear the sighing gale Coming up from South to North, While a lengthened answering wail Comes from every quarter forth! Is it widows' hopeless sighs That create the wailing wind? Is it orphan children's cries For the prisoners Death doth bind? That we conquer cannot bring Loved and lost ones back to life-- That Right conquers, Glory sings O'er the field of deadly strife; That Right conquers still, shall be Balm for hearts with deepest wound, And this thought eternally Sanctifies the battle-ground! Bunker Hill, ill., Feb. 17, 1862.
Lizzie E. H. Bates (search for this): chapter 2
2. victory. by Lizzie E. H. Bates. All the day the stormy clouds Have been drifting overhead In the wind, like misty shrouds For the brave and noble dead; But the sun with genial glow Breaks the sombre veil at last, Like to the exultant show Victors make when battle's past. Listen! Hear the deepening roar Shaking earth, and air, and sky, From the distant river shore-- How its echoes thunder by! Does an earthquake stalk abroad O'er Missouri's fated soil, Making one vast grave her sod While her rivers seethe and boil? Listen! No! It is the boom Of the cannon's fearful notes, While the wreaths of battle bloom All around their bellowing throats! Listen! No! It cannot be! Price is still in full retreat, And our troops in Tennessee Rebel arms shall ne'er defeat! Listen! Still the ceaseless roar Peals along the quivering air, From the city on the shore News of victory it must bear! Listen! Hear the loud hurrahs In the quiet village streets While the distant thunder jars-- Echo st
South River, Ga. (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
! Every thing of victory tells, Hearts of millions yearn to hear. Price is taken, now, at last! Donelson has fallen low! God be praised! the die is cast! Vengeance falleth on the foe! God be praised! His arm of wrath Strikes for us this mighty blow-- Leads us on the battle-path-- Stanches, guides its crimson flow. God be praised! for soon our land, Groaning and convulsed so long, As in olden time shall stand, Union--Freedom blend their song! Listen! Hear the sighing gale Coming up from South to North, While a lengthened answering wail Comes from every quarter forth! Is it widows' hopeless sighs That create the wailing wind? Is it orphan children's cries For the prisoners Death doth bind? That we conquer cannot bring Loved and lost ones back to life-- That Right conquers, Glory sings O'er the field of deadly strife; That Right conquers still, shall be Balm for hearts with deepest wound, And this thought eternally Sanctifies the battle-ground! Bunker Hill, ill., Feb. 17, 1862
Missouri (Missouri, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
2. victory. by Lizzie E. H. Bates. All the day the stormy clouds Have been drifting overhead In the wind, like misty shrouds For the brave and noble dead; But the sun with genial glow Breaks the sombre veil at last, Like to the exultant show Victors make when battle's past. Listen! Hear the deepening roar Shaking earth, and air, and sky, From the distant river shore-- How its echoes thunder by! Does an earthquake stalk abroad O'er Missouri's fated soil, Making one vast grave her sod While her rivers seethe and boil? Listen! No! It is the boom Of the cannon's fearful notes, While the wreaths of battle bloom All around their bellowing throats! Listen! No! It cannot be! Price is still in full retreat, And our troops in Tennessee Rebel arms shall ne'er defeat! Listen! Still the ceaseless roar Peals along the quivering air, From the city on the shore News of victory it must bear! Listen! Hear the loud hurrahs In the quiet village streets While the distant thunder jars-- Echo st
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