Tell the Boys the War Is Ended
While in the first ward of the Quintard Hospital, Rome, Georgia, a young soldier from the Eighth Arkansas Begiment, who had been wounded at Murfreesboro’, called me to his bedside. As I approached I saw that he was dying, and when I bent over him he was just able to whisper, “Tell the boys the war is ended.”
“Tell the boys the war is ended,”
These were all the words he said;
“Tell the boys the war is ended,”
In an instant more was dead.
Strangely bright, serene, and cheerful
Was the smile upon his face,
While the pain, of late so fearful,
Had not left the slightest trace.
“Tell the boys the war is ended,”
And with heavenly visions bright
Thoughts of comrades loved were blended,
As his spirit took its flight.
“Tell the boys the war is ended,”
“Grant, 0 God, it may be so,”
Was the prayer which then ascended,
In a whisper deep, though low.
“Tell the boys the war is ended,”
And his warfare then was o’er,
As, by angel bands attended,
He departed from earth’s shore.
Bursting shells and cannons roaring
Could not rouse him by their din;
He to better worlds was soaring,
Far from war, and pain, and sin.
By St. George Tucker, of Virginia.
Oh! say can you see, through the gloom and the storm,
More bright for the darkness, that pure constellation?
Like the symbol of love and redemption its form,
As it points to the haven of hope for the nation.
How radiant each star, as the beacon afar,
Giving promise of peace, or assurance in war!
’Tis the Cross of the South, which shall ever remain
To light us to freedom and glory again!
How peaceful and blest was America’s soil,
’Till betrayed by the guile of the Puritan demon,
Which lurks under virtue, and springs from its coil
To fasten its fangs in the life-blood of freemen.
Then boldly appeal to each heart that can feel,
And crush the foul viper ’neath Liberty’s heel!
And the Cross of the South shall in triumph remain,
To light us to freedom and glory again!
’Tis the emblem of peace,’tis the day-star of hope,
Like the sacred Labarum that guided the Roman;
From the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware’s slope,
’Tis the trust of the free and the terror of foemen.
Fling its folds to the air, while we boldly declare
The rights we demand or the deeds that we dare!
While the Cross of the South shall in triumph remain,
To light us to freedom and glory again!
And if peace should be hopeless and justice denied,
And war’s bloody vulture should flap its black pinions,
Then gladly “to arms,” while we hurl, in our pride,
Defiance to tyrants and death to their minions!
With our front in the field, swearing never to yield,
Or return, like the Spartan, in death on our shield!
And the Cross of the South shall triumphantly wave,
As the flag of the free or the pall of the brave!
Southern Literary Messenger.