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     In the singed mantles that our sires
Have dropped below.

But now the cross our worthies bore
     On us is laid;
Profession's quiet sleep is o'er,
     And in the scale of truth once more
Our faith is weighed.

The cry of innocent blood at last
     Is calling down
An answer in the whirlwind-blast,
     The thunder and the shadow cast
From Heaven's dark frown.

The land is red with judgments. Who
     Stands guiltless forth?
Have we been faithful as we knew,
     To God and to our brother true,
To Heaven and Earth?

How faint, through din of merchandise
     And count of gain,
Have seemed to us the captive's cries!
     How far away the tears and sighs
Of souls in pain!

This day the fearful reckoning comes
     To each and all;
We hear amidst our peaceful homes
     The summons of the conscript drums,
The bugle's call.

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