Now God judge betwixt us!--God prosper the right!
To brave men there's nothing remains, but to fight:
I grudge you not, Douglass,--die, rather than yield,--
And like the old heroes,--come home on your shield!"

The morning is breaking:--the flush of the dawn
Is warning the soldier, 'tis time to be gone;
The children around him expectantly wait,--
His horse, all caparisoned, paws at the gate:
With face strangely pallid,--no sobbings,--no sighs,--
But only a luminous mist in her eyes,
His wife is subduing the heart-throbs that swell,
And calming herself for a quiet farewell.

There falls a felt silence:--the note of a bird,
A tremulous twitter,--is all that is heard;
The circle has knelt by the holly-bush there,--
And listen,--there comes the low breathing of prayer.

"Father! fold thine arms of pity
Round us as we lowly bow;
Never have we kneeled before Thee
With such burden'd hearts as now!

Joy has been our constant portion,
And if ill must now befall,
With a filial acquiescence,
We would thank thee for it all.

In the path of present duty,