New Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him,—be World jubilant, my feet! and Old Glory Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me: As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. JULIA WARD HOWE. Sheridan's Ride October 19, 1864. Up from the South at break of day, And wider still those billows of war *By courtesy of J. B. Lippincott & Co. And louder yet into Winchester rolled As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, But there is a road from Winchester town, A good broad highway leading down; He stretched away with the utmost speed; Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth; With Sheridan only ten miles away. New World and Old Glory Under his spurning feet the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, New And the landscape flowed away behind, World Like an ocean flying before the wind; and Old Glory And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire, He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, The first that the General saw were the groups Then, striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, The sight of the master compelled it to pause. gray; By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, He seemed to the whole great army to say, 66 "I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down to save the day!" Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! And when their statues are placed on high, Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. New World and Old Glory Song of the Negro Boatman O, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come An' massa tink it day ob doom, An' we ob jubilee. De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves He jus’ as trong as den; He say de word: we las' night slaves; De yam will grow, de cotton blow, O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear Ole massa on he trabbels gone; He leaf de land behind: De Lord's breff blow him furder on, We own de hoe, we own de plough, We own de hands dat hold; New World and Old Glory We sell de pig, we sell de cow, But nebber chile be sold. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear We pray de Lord: he gib us signs We tink it when de church-bell ring, De rice-bird mean it when he sing, De eagle when he scream. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear We know de promise nebber fail, An' nebber lie de word; So like de 'postles in de jail, We waited for de Lord: An' now he open ebery door, He tink we lub him so before, We lub him better free. |