God of the just! they are not dead,--
Those who have erst for freedom bled;--
Their every deed has boldly said
We all shall rise again.
A patriot's deeds can never die,--
Time's noblest heritage are they,--
Though countless aeons pass them by,
They rise at last to day.
The spirits of our fathers rise
Triumphant through the starry skies;
And we may hear their choral song,--
The firm in faith, the noble throng,--
It bids us crush a deadly wrong,
Wrought by red-handed Cain.
AND WE SHALL CONQUER! for the Right
Goes onward with resistless might:
His hand shall win for us the fight.
WE, too, shall rise again!
* * * * *
AMONG THE PINES.
My last article left the reader in the doorway of the Colonel's mansion.
Before entering, we will linger there awhile and survey the outside of
the premises.
The house stands where two roads meet, and, unlike most planters'
dwellings, is located in full view of the highway. It is a rambling,
disjointed structure, thrown together with no regard to architectural
rules, and yet there is a kind of rude harmony in its very
irregularities that has a pleasing effect.
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