“  mother would cry; but if Jackson died, all the people of the country would cry.” Sixteen years have passed. God grant that the litttle speaker then, the woman now, if alive, who wanted to die for Jackson, is beloved and happy! The character of Jackson, while being likened to the unswerving justice of an Aristides, had yet the grand virtues of a Cato. Like the aurora borealis at an autumn's evening close, it will brightly shine in the sky of the future. For he was like Enoch, “A type of perfected humanity — a man raised to heaven by pleasing God, while angels fell to earth by transgression.” Immortal Jackson! though like leaves of autumn thy dead have lain, the--
Southern heart is their funeral urn,Sacred Chancellorsville! The sun had gone down behind the hills, and the wind behind the clouds. It was--
The Southern slogan their requiem stern.
A night of storms, but not like thoseUpon the occasion of Robert E. Lee's confirmation as a member of the church, Bishop Johns said to him: “If you will be as faithful a soldier of the cross as you have been of your country, when your warfare is over I shall covet your crown.”
That sweep the mountain's breast;
Not like the hurricane that blows
To break the ocean's rest.
It lightened, 'twas the sheeted flash
From serried ranks that flew;
It thundered, 'twas the cannon's crash,
That tore the forest through.
Oh! night of horrors, thou didst see
With all thy starry eyes,
The holocaust of victory,
A nation's sacrifice.
Lo, prostrate on the field of strife,
The noble warrior fell,
Enriching with a martyr's life
The land he loved so well.
But round the martyred hero's form
A living rampart rose
To shield him from the hail and storm
Of his retreating foes.
And angels from the King of kings,
On holiest mission sped
To weave a canopy of wings
Around his sainted head.