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Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 2. (ed. Frank Moore).

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July 21st (search for this): chapter 1
1. Bull Run, Sunday, July 21st. by Alice B. Haven. We — walking so slowly adown the green lane, With Sabbath-bells chiming, and birds singing psalms, He — eager with haste, pressing on o'er the slain, 'Mid the trampling of steeds and the drum-beat to arms, In that cool, dewy morning. We — waiting with faces all reverent and still, The organ's voice vibrant with praise unto God: His face set like flint with the impress of will, To press back the foe, or to die on the sod-- My fair, brave young brother! We — kneeling to hear benedictions of love, Our hearts all at peace with the message from Heaven! He — stretched on the field, gasping, wounded, to prove, If mercy were found where such courage had striven, In the midst of the slaughter. O God!--can I live with the horrible truth! Stabbed through as he lay, with their glittering steel; Could they look in that face, like a woman's for youth, And crush out its beauty with musket and heel, Like hounds, or like demons! That brow I
July 27th (search for this): chapter 1
ll searching! I know eyes more tender looked upward to Thee; That visage, so marred by the torturing crown-- Those smooth, noble limbs, racked with anguish I see; The side where the blood and the water gushed down, From stroke fierce and brutal. Help lips white with anguish to take up His prayer; Help hearts that are bursting to stifle their cries; The shout of the populace, too, has been there, To drown pleas for justice, to clothe truth in lies-- To enrage and to madden. They knew not we loved them; they knew not we prayed For their weal as our own;--“we are brethren,” we plead; Unceasing those prayers to Our Father were made; When they flung down the palm for palmetto, we said, “Let us still hope to win them.” “God so loved, that He gave!” We are giving to these The lives that were dearer to us than our own; Let us add prayer for blood, trusting God to appease Our heart's craving pain, when He hears on his throne, “Oh, Father, forgive them!” --N. Y. Evening Post,
Alice B. Haven (search for this): chapter 1
1. Bull Run, Sunday, July 21st. by Alice B. Haven. We — walking so slowly adown the green lane, With Sabbath-bells chiming, and birds singing psalms, He — eager with haste, pressing on o'er the slain, 'Mid the trampling of steeds and the drum-beat to arms, In that cool, dewy morning. We — waiting with faces all reverent and still, The organ's voice vibrant with praise unto God: His face set like flint with the impress of will, To press back the foe, or to die on the sod-- My fair, brave young brother! We — kneeling to hear benedictions of love, Our hearts all at peace with the message from Heaven! He — stretched on the field, gasping, wounded, to prove, If mercy were found where such courage had striven, In the midst of the slaughter. O God!--can I live with the horrible truth! Stabbed through as he lay, with their glittering steel; Could they look in that face, like a woman's for youth, And crush out its beauty with musket and heel, Like hounds, or like demons! That brow I
Bull Run, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
1. Bull Run, Sunday, July 21st. by Alice B. Haven. We — walking so slowly adown the green lane, With Sabbath-bells chiming, and birds singing psalms, He — eager with haste, pressing on o'er the slain, 'Mid the trampling of steeds and the drum-beat to arms, In that cool, dewy morning. We — waiting with faces all reverent and still, The organ's voice vibrant with praise unto God: His face set like flint with the impress of will, To press back the foe, or to die on the sod-- My fair, brave young brother! We — kneeling to hear benedictions of love, Our hearts all at peace with the message from Heaven! He — stretched on the field, gasping, wounded, to prove, If mercy were found where such courage had striven, In the midst of the slaughter. O God!--can I live with the horrible truth! Stabbed through as he lay, with their glittering steel; Could they look in that face, like a woman's for youth, And crush out its beauty with musket and heel, Like hounds, or like demons! That brow I
William Cullen Bryant (search for this): chapter 2
2. not yet. by William Cullen Bryant. Oh, country, marvel of the earth! Oh, realm to sudden greatness grown! The age that gloried in thy birth, Shall it behold thee overthrown? Shall traitors lay that greatness low? No! Land of Hope and Blessing, No! And we who wear thy glorious name, Shall we, like cravens, stand apart, When those whom thou hast trusted, aim The death-blow at thy generous heart? Forth goes the battle-cry, and lo! Hosts rise in harness, shouting, No! And they who founded, in our land, The power that rules from sea to sea, Bled they in vain, or vainly planned To leave their country great and free? Their sleeping ashes, from below, Send up the thrilling murmur, No! Knit they the gentle ties which long These sister States were proud to wear, And forged the kindly links so strong, For idle hands in sport to tear-- For scornful hands aside to throw? No! by our fathers' memory, No! Our humming marts, our iron ways, Our wind-tossed woods on mountain crest, The h
Mississippi (Mississippi, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
vainly planned To leave their country great and free? Their sleeping ashes, from below, Send up the thrilling murmur, No! Knit they the gentle ties which long These sister States were proud to wear, And forged the kindly links so strong, For idle hands in sport to tear-- For scornful hands aside to throw? No! by our fathers' memory, No! Our humming marts, our iron ways, Our wind-tossed woods on mountain crest, The hoarse Atlantic, with his bays, The call, broad Ocean of the West, And Mississippi's torrent-flow, And loud Niagara, answer, No! Not yet the hour is nigh, when they Who deep in Eld's dim twilight sit, Earth's ancient kings, shall rise and say, “Proud country, welcome to the pit! So soon art thou, like us, brought low?” No! sullen group of shadows, No! For now, behold, the arm that gave The victory in our fathers' day, Strong, as of old, to guard and save-- That mighty arm which none can stay-- On clouds above, and fields below, Writes, in men's sight, the answer, No
Fort Niagara (New York, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
inly planned To leave their country great and free? Their sleeping ashes, from below, Send up the thrilling murmur, No! Knit they the gentle ties which long These sister States were proud to wear, And forged the kindly links so strong, For idle hands in sport to tear-- For scornful hands aside to throw? No! by our fathers' memory, No! Our humming marts, our iron ways, Our wind-tossed woods on mountain crest, The hoarse Atlantic, with his bays, The call, broad Ocean of the West, And Mississippi's torrent-flow, And loud Niagara, answer, No! Not yet the hour is nigh, when they Who deep in Eld's dim twilight sit, Earth's ancient kings, shall rise and say, “Proud country, welcome to the pit! So soon art thou, like us, brought low?” No! sullen group of shadows, No! For now, behold, the arm that gave The victory in our fathers' day, Strong, as of old, to guard and save-- That mighty arm which none can stay-- On clouds above, and fields below, Writes, in men's sight, the answer,
August 6th (search for this): chapter 3
heavy flags that fall Trailing from the bastioned wall, Miserere, Domine! By our country's common blame, By our silent years of shame, By our curbed and bated breath Under dynasties of Death, Miserere, Domine! By the sin we dared disown, Till its “dragon teeth” were sown, By the cause, yet unavowed, By the fire behind the cloud, Miserere, Domine.! By our Northern host betrayed, At Manassas' bloody raid, By our losses unatoned-- Our dead heroes, heart-enthroned, Miserere, Domine! For Rhode Island's gallant stand-- Her “unconquerable band ;” -- For the dear, familiar names, Now linked to old, historic fames, Te laudamus, Domine! For our boys that knew not fear, For their “gallant Brigadier,” For their leader, brave and young, For their praise on every tongue! Te laudamus, Domine! By the hope that suffers long, And grows through holy sorrow strong, By all the starry flags unfurled, For the last war-field of the world, Give us, O God, the victory! --Providence Daily Journal, Aug
Sarah Helen Whitman (search for this): chapter 3
3. after the fight at Manassas. by Sarah Helen Whitman. By the great bells swinging slow The solemn dirges of our woe, By the heavy flags that fall Trailing from the bastioned wall, Miserere, Domine! By our country's common blame, By our silent years of shame, By our curbed and bated breath Under dynasties of Death, Miserere, Domine! By the sin we dared disown, Till its “dragon teeth” were sown, By the cause, yet unavowed, By the fire behind the cloud, Miserere, Domine.! By our Northern host betrayed, At Manassas' bloody raid, By our losses unatoned-- Our dead heroes, heart-enthroned, Miserere, Domine! For Rhode Island's gallant stand-- Her “unconquerable band ;” -- For the dear, familiar names, Now linked to old, historic fames, Te laudamus, Domine! For our boys that knew not fear, For their “gallant Brigadier,” For their leader, brave and young, For their praise on every tongue! Te laudamus, Domine! By the hope that suffers long, And grows through holy sorrow strong,
Rhode Island (Rhode Island, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
e heavy flags that fall Trailing from the bastioned wall, Miserere, Domine! By our country's common blame, By our silent years of shame, By our curbed and bated breath Under dynasties of Death, Miserere, Domine! By the sin we dared disown, Till its “dragon teeth” were sown, By the cause, yet unavowed, By the fire behind the cloud, Miserere, Domine.! By our Northern host betrayed, At Manassas' bloody raid, By our losses unatoned-- Our dead heroes, heart-enthroned, Miserere, Domine! For Rhode Island's gallant stand-- Her “unconquerable band ;” -- For the dear, familiar names, Now linked to old, historic fames, Te laudamus, Domine! For our boys that knew not fear, For their “gallant Brigadier,” For their leader, brave and young, For their praise on every tongue! Te laudamus, Domine! By the hope that suffers long, And grows through holy sorrow strong, By all the starry flags unfurled, For the last war-field of the world, Give us, O God, the victory! --Providence Daily Journal, A
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