Revealed, as in a lightning flash,
A hero stood!
The invading foe, the trumpet's crash,
Set up his blood.

High o'er the sacred pile that bends
Those forms above,
Thy star, O Freedom! brightly blends
Its rays with love.

The banner of a mighty race,
Serenely there,
Unfurls the genius of the place,
In haunted air.

A vow is registered in Heaven!
Patriot! 'tis thine!
To guard those matchless colors, given
By hands divine.

Jackson! thy spirit may not hear
Our wail ascend;
A nation gathers round thy bier,
And mourns its friend.

The example is thy monument,
And organ tones
Thy name resound, with glory blent,
Prouder than thrones!

And they whose loss hath been our gain,
A people's cares
Shall win their wounded hearts from pain,
And wipe their tears.

When time shall set the captives free,
Now scathed by wrath,
Heirs of his immortality,
Bright be their path.

The Blessed Union--Epigram.

Doubtless to some, with length of ears,
To gratify an ape's desire,
The blessed Union still endears;--
The stripes, if not the stars, be theirs!
"Greek faith" they gave us eighty years,
And then--"Greek fire!"
But, better all their fires of scath
Than one hour's trust in Yankee faith!

The Fire of Freedom.

The holy fire that nerved the Greek
To make his stand at Marathon,
Until the last red foeman's shriek
Proclaimed that freedom's fight was won,
Still lives unquenched--unquenchable:
Through every age its fires will burn--
Lives in the hermit's lonely cell,
And springs from every storied urn.

The hearthstone embers hold the spark
Where fell oppression's foot hath trod;
Through superstition's shadow dark
It flashes to the living God!
From Moscow's ashes springs the Russ;
In Warsaw, Poland lives again:
Schamyl, on frosty Caucasus,
Strikes liberty's electric chain!

Tell's freedom-beacon lights the Swiss;
Vainly the invader ever strives;
He finds Sic Semper Tyrannis
In San Jacinto's bowie-knives!
Than these--than all--a holier fire
Now burns thy soul, Virginia's son!
Strike then for wife, babe, gray-haired sire,
Strike for the grave of Washington!

The Northern rabble arms for greed;
The hireling parson goads the train--
In that foul crop from, bigot seed,
Old "Praise God Barebones" howls again!
We welcome them to "Southern lands,"
We welcome them to "Southern slaves,"
We welcome them "with bloody hands
To hospitable Southern graves!"

Hymn to the National Flag.