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Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 4. (ed. Frank Moore).

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Christ (search for this): chapter 1
with waiting battle-lights! About the Christmas hearths vague shadows came; Close mists of sorrow damp the sparkling flame For many a household missed its dearest head, And many a Rachel mourned her children dead; Our people, looking in the embers low, Familiar with the ashes, talked with woe. The angels' song that hailed the mystic birth, “Glory to God, peace and good — will on earth,” Though echoed, and the burthen of a prayer, Weighed the heart's wings, and hope seemed half despair, Till Christ, perchance, on his dear mission came Into the fireside's saddened ring of flame, And soothed the mourners with his whispering, “Man's cause is mine! Peace and the Sword I bring.” To-day, flushed morn of greetings, Memory's hands Warm with new blood, and gathered household bands Radiant with home's gentle atmosphere-- Muffle the bells that rock the cradled year! We may not gladden the old holiday With mirthful words and fancies brightly gay. 'Tis not for Time, and what Time takes, we g
John C. Breckinridge (search for this): chapter 1
xington! --Kentucky! though unnerved thy mighty hand, Till in thy breast had warmed the traitor band, Thank God! the serpent nursed and nourished there, Timely thrust forth to bite the winter air, Poisons no more where it would fain have fed, And hisses harmless wrath till trampled dead. Thank God, though late, the righteous cause is thine, Ready to drink thy cup like festal wine. Thank God, however dark thy day be found, Patriots shall sow with flowers the Bloody Ground. Thank God, for Breckinridge and Buckner's shame; Crittenden speaks, and Rousseau's sword's aflame; (And, Prentice!--blame your newsboy!--by the Eternal, You take the War Department of — the Journal!) Lo! where they stand, the impious-hearted ones, Who dare to call themselves Kentucky's sons! No! the old Mother knows them not; she knows Her household shame, her fireside's fiercest foes. Her curse is on them — lo! the Mother saith, “Scatter my chaff before the cannon's breath!” --Therefore, O Year, within thy cof
Buckner (search for this): chapter 1
ucky! though unnerved thy mighty hand, Till in thy breast had warmed the traitor band, Thank God! the serpent nursed and nourished there, Timely thrust forth to bite the winter air, Poisons no more where it would fain have fed, And hisses harmless wrath till trampled dead. Thank God, though late, the righteous cause is thine, Ready to drink thy cup like festal wine. Thank God, however dark thy day be found, Patriots shall sow with flowers the Bloody Ground. Thank God, for Breckinridge and Buckner's shame; Crittenden speaks, and Rousseau's sword's aflame; (And, Prentice!--blame your newsboy!--by the Eternal, You take the War Department of — the Journal!) Lo! where they stand, the impious-hearted ones, Who dare to call themselves Kentucky's sons! No! the old Mother knows them not; she knows Her household shame, her fireside's fiercest foes. Her curse is on them — lo! the Mother saith, “Scatter my chaff before the cannon's breath!” --Therefore, O Year, within thy coffin lie, Wrapp
Rousseau (search for this): chapter 1
Till in thy breast had warmed the traitor band, Thank God! the serpent nursed and nourished there, Timely thrust forth to bite the winter air, Poisons no more where it would fain have fed, And hisses harmless wrath till trampled dead. Thank God, though late, the righteous cause is thine, Ready to drink thy cup like festal wine. Thank God, however dark thy day be found, Patriots shall sow with flowers the Bloody Ground. Thank God, for Breckinridge and Buckner's shame; Crittenden speaks, and Rousseau's sword's aflame; (And, Prentice!--blame your newsboy!--by the Eternal, You take the War Department of — the Journal!) Lo! where they stand, the impious-hearted ones, Who dare to call themselves Kentucky's sons! No! the old Mother knows them not; she knows Her household shame, her fireside's fiercest foes. Her curse is on them — lo! the Mother saith, “Scatter my chaff before the cannon's breath!” --Therefore, O Year, within thy coffin lie, Wrapped in the costliest robes of History; Thy
Webster (search for this): chapter 1
s bond be riven, And all the Pleiad sisters fall from heaven! Lo! in the East an awful dream; and lo! Like a weird painting o'er the life below, Solemn and calm, with silence in their eyes, “Congress assembled” --watchers from yon skies! Above the storm, serene with high reproof, Sorrow, not anger — silence, shame, and love! Lo! from your sacred places rise the grand And haloed guardians of your hallowed land, Wherever lying, dust in earth, but yet Voices in council men may ne'er forget. Webster's calm looks the waves of discord sun; Words broken rise, “Now and for ever, one!” And over Ashland's folded sod forever A spirit rises, “Never! never! never!” A year ago were writ these pleading words, While the black skies throbbed full of prophet-birds, And (wraths world-old, whose maws have no remorse) Grim vultures wheeling for a nation's corse. These words, a year ago, I could but deem The haunting memory of some waking dream. The year has gone, and God's horizon still Flame
Crittenden (search for this): chapter 1
rved thy mighty hand, Till in thy breast had warmed the traitor band, Thank God! the serpent nursed and nourished there, Timely thrust forth to bite the winter air, Poisons no more where it would fain have fed, And hisses harmless wrath till trampled dead. Thank God, though late, the righteous cause is thine, Ready to drink thy cup like festal wine. Thank God, however dark thy day be found, Patriots shall sow with flowers the Bloody Ground. Thank God, for Breckinridge and Buckner's shame; Crittenden speaks, and Rousseau's sword's aflame; (And, Prentice!--blame your newsboy!--by the Eternal, You take the War Department of — the Journal!) Lo! where they stand, the impious-hearted ones, Who dare to call themselves Kentucky's sons! No! the old Mother knows them not; she knows Her household shame, her fireside's fiercest foes. Her curse is on them — lo! the Mother saith, “Scatter my chaff before the cannon's breath!” --Therefore, O Year, within thy coffin lie, Wrapped in the costliest
John J. Piatt (search for this): chapter 1
1. the Nation's New Year. by John J. Piatt. the air takes voices; from the past they rise; They haunt your sleep — you waken with their cries. For many a bard's and many a warrior's grave The imploring hand and voice are lifted, “Save!” The world is old, and Hope has struggled long; The patriot's death, the poet's prophet-song, In vain the world their nobler sense have given, If the last star a meteor — was in heaven! In vain blind eyes have seen, great hearts have beat Consoling victories over old defeat; In vain have Freedom's martyrs gone to rest, Smiling from flames, and, dying, whispered, “West.” In vain your great assembled Congress there, With the proud scroll in Memory's Sabbath air; In vain the battle-bloom which wreathes the Past, That tried men's souls, and found the gleam at last; In vain the starlit banner of the world To the wide winds and for all men unfurled; In vain were Bunker Hill and Concord Plain, And Yorktown Heights — and Washington in vain, If the G
Prentice (search for this): chapter 1
traitor band, Thank God! the serpent nursed and nourished there, Timely thrust forth to bite the winter air, Poisons no more where it would fain have fed, And hisses harmless wrath till trampled dead. Thank God, though late, the righteous cause is thine, Ready to drink thy cup like festal wine. Thank God, however dark thy day be found, Patriots shall sow with flowers the Bloody Ground. Thank God, for Breckinridge and Buckner's shame; Crittenden speaks, and Rousseau's sword's aflame; (And, Prentice!--blame your newsboy!--by the Eternal, You take the War Department of — the Journal!) Lo! where they stand, the impious-hearted ones, Who dare to call themselves Kentucky's sons! No! the old Mother knows them not; she knows Her household shame, her fireside's fiercest foes. Her curse is on them — lo! the Mother saith, “Scatter my chaff before the cannon's breath!” --Therefore, O Year, within thy coffin lie, Wrapped in the costliest robes of History; Thy soul shall rise in many an after
Kentucky (Kentucky, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
rs, swift and strong, From nightmare dreams that kissed them down so long; One with a myriad hearts and myriad feet, From field and fireside, lane and thronged street! The battle-fires were leaping up as one, When Baltimore reechoed Lexington! --Kentucky! though unnerved thy mighty hand, Till in thy breast had warmed the traitor band, Thank God! the serpent nursed and nourished there, Timely thrust forth to bite the winter air, Poisons no more where it would fain have fed, And hisses harmless Buckner's shame; Crittenden speaks, and Rousseau's sword's aflame; (And, Prentice!--blame your newsboy!--by the Eternal, You take the War Department of — the Journal!) Lo! where they stand, the impious-hearted ones, Who dare to call themselves Kentucky's sons! No! the old Mother knows them not; she knows Her household shame, her fireside's fiercest foes. Her curse is on them — lo! the Mother saith, “Scatter my chaff before the cannon's breath!” --Therefore, O Year, within thy coffin lie, W
Baltimore, Md. (Maryland, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
in every soul, on every face. “Who guards our Union, guards the human race!” The ice grew fire, and left the mountain's crown, When April's echoes shook the avalanche down. The awful marches of the People came Like the volcano's leaping ranks of flame. They rose, the hot Defenders, swift and strong, From nightmare dreams that kissed them down so long; One with a myriad hearts and myriad feet, From field and fireside, lane and thronged street! The battle-fires were leaping up as one, When Baltimore reechoed Lexington! --Kentucky! though unnerved thy mighty hand, Till in thy breast had warmed the traitor band, Thank God! the serpent nursed and nourished there, Timely thrust forth to bite the winter air, Poisons no more where it would fain have fed, And hisses harmless wrath till trampled dead. Thank God, though late, the righteous cause is thine, Ready to drink thy cup like festal wine. Thank God, however dark thy day be found, Patriots shall sow with flowers the Bloody Ground. Than
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