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Benson J. Lossing, Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War. Volume 2., Chapter 14 : movements of the Army of the Potomac .--the Monitor and Merrimack . (search)
Benson J. Lossing, Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War. Volume 2., Chapter 18 : Lee 's invasion of Maryland , and his retreat toward Richmond . (search)
Benson J. Lossing, Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War. Volume 3., Chapter 22 : prisoners.-benevolent operations during the War .--readjustment of National affairs.--conclusion. (search)
Benson J. Lossing, Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War. Volume 3., Index. (search)
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 21 (search)
Whittier and the Alabama planter.--On Monday, the New England Poet, John G. Whittier, passed a few hours here on the way to his lovely home on the banks of the Merrimac, whence he has given to theJohn G. Whittier, passed a few hours here on the way to his lovely home on the banks of the Merrimac, whence he has given to the world so many ringing lyrics and striking poems, stirring the blood like the blast of a trumpet, redolent of the airs of freedom, or tender with the emotions of friendship, charmingly descriptive of till further to the rich stores of American literature which he has already adorned so much.
Mr. Whittier manifests a deep interest in the cause of the country, and watches with an anxious eye the co and courtesy, and admitted that Southerners generally received the same treatment.
Finally, Whittier, after attending him to some of the desirable places of resort, told him that, as he was now he d it not have been a sight worth seeing — that conclave in the Liberator office, with Garrison, Whittier, Phillips, Douglass, and the Alabama planter, in the foreground?
The planter went to his home
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 280 (search)
93. at Port Royal--1861.
by J. G. Whittier. The tent-lights glimmer on the land, The ship-lights on the sea; The night-wind smooths with drifting sand Our track on lone Tybee. At last our grating keels outslide, Our good boats forward swing; And while we ride the land-locked tide, Our negroes row and sing. For dear the bondman holds his gifts Of music and of song: The gold that kindly Nature sifts Among his sands of wrong; The power to make his toiling days And poor home-comforts please; The quaint relief of mirth that plays With sorrow's minor keys. Another glow than sunset's fire Has filled the West with light, Where field and garner, barn and byre, Are blazing through the night. The land is wild with fear and hate, The rout runs mad and fast; From hand to hand, from gate to gate, The flaming brand is passed. The lurid glow falls strong across Dark faces broad with smiles; Not theirs the terror, hate, and loss, That fire yon blazing piles. With oar-strokes timing to their song,
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 1. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 334 (search)
101. Ein Feste Burg Ist Unser Gott.
by John G. Whittier.
(Luther's Hymn.) We wait beneath the furnace blast The pangs of transformation; Not painlessly doth God recast And mould anew the nation. Hot burns the fire Where wrongs expire; Nor spares the hand That from the land Uproots the ancient evil. The hand-breadth cloud the sages feared, Its bloody rain is dropping; The poison plant the fathers spared, All else is overtopping. East, West, South, North, It curses the earth: All justice dies, And fraud and lies Live only in its shadow. What gives the wheat field blades of steel? What points the rebel cannon? What sets the roaring rabble's heel On the old star-spangled pennon? What breaks the oath Of the men oa the South? What whets the knife For the Union's life?-- Hark to the answer :--Slavery! Then waste no blows on lesser foes, In strife unworthy freemen. God lifts to-day the veil, and shows The features of the demon! O North and South, Its victims both, Can ye not cry,
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 1. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 469 (search)
155.
the crisis. by J. G. Whittier. The crisis presses on us; face to face with us it stands, With solemn lips of question, like the Sphynx in Egypt's sands! This day we fashion Destiny, our web of fate we spin; This day for all hereafter choose we holiness or sin; Even now from starry Gerizim, or Ebal's cloudy crown, We call the dews of blessing, or the bolts of cursing down! By all for which the Martyrs bore their agony and shame; By all the warning words of truth with which the Prophets came; By the Future which awaits us; by all the hope which cast Their faint and trembling beams across the blackness of the Past, And in the awful name of Him who for earth's freedom died; O ye people!
O my brothers!
let us choose the righteous side! So shall the Northern pioneer go joyfully on his way, To wed Penobscot's waters to San Francisco's bay; To make the rugged places smooth, and sow the vales with grain, And bear, with Liberty and Law, the Bible in his train; The mighty West shall
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Index, Volume 1. (ed. Frank Moore), Index. (search)
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 4. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 5 (search)
5.
the Watchers. by John G. Whittier. Beside a stricken field I stood; On the torn turf, on grass, on wood, Hung heavily the dew of blood. Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain; But all the air was quick with pain, And gusty sighs and tearful rain. Two angels, each with drooping head, And folded wings, and noiseless tread, Watched by that valley of the dead. The one, with forehead saintly bland, And lips of blessing, not command, Leaned, weeping, on her olive wand. The other's brows were scarred and knit; His restless eyes were watch-fires lit, His hands for battle-gauntlets fit. “How long!” --I knew the voice of Peace, ”Is there no respite?--no release?-- When shall the hopeless quarrel cease? ”Oh Lord, how long!--One human soul Is more than any parchment scroll, Or any flag the winds unroll. ”What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave? How weigh the gift that Lyon gave? Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave? ”Oh brother!
if thine eye can see, Tell how and wh