Columbia's Guardian Angels
An echo floats down from the mountains,
And finds on the prairies release;
An echo whose wonderful burden
Is "Victory! Liberty! Peace!"
The glorious trio, behold they are comming!
Their heralds are standing e'en now at the door:
[Are coming, are coming, are coming, are coming once more.]
Go tell the lone watchers of earth, they are coming
To bless us -- be with us -- forsake us no more.
[Are coming, are coming, are coming, are coming once more.]
"Glory to God in the highest!"
And the people shall answer "Amen!"
Columbia's Guardian Angels
Return to their empire again.
The banner hangs high in the heavens,
The beacon commences to burn;
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Kingdom Coming
Say, darkeys, hab you seen de massa,
Wid de muffstash on his face,
Go long de road some time dis mornin',
Like he gwine to leag de place?
He seen a smoke, way up de ribber,
Whar de Linkum gumboats lay;
He took his hat, an' lef berry sudden,
An' I spec he's run away!
De massa run? ha, ha!
De darkey stay? ho, ho!
It mus' be now de kingdom comin',
An' de year of Jubilo!
He six foot one way, two foot tudder,
An' he weigh tree hundred pound,
His coat so big, he couldn't pay de tailor,
An' it won't go half way round.
He drill so much they call him Cap'an,
An' he get so drefful tann'd,
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Farewell, My Loved One!
Round me now, beneath the weeping willow,
Night's refreshing breezes blow;
Anguish drove me from a sleepless pillow
Hours and hours ago.
You, and you alone, may know my sorrow--
You, my confidante of yore--
You, my loved one, when I must, tomorrow
Lose forever more!
Farewell, my loved one!
Yet once more
Let me press you to my heart;
Once, our Fate, with cruel fingers,
Tears our souls apart.
Though you may forget it, I remember--
Yes! for sweet it was to know--
What you told me in that dear December,
Years and years ago.
Whisper once again a truth so cheering,
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Watching For Pa
Three little forms in the twilight gray,
Searching the shadows across the way;
Two pair of black eyes, and one of blue --
Brimful of love, and of mischief too;
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
May, with her placid and thoughtful brow,
Beaming with kindness and love just now;
Willie the youngest, in anguish did lay,
Stealing sly kisses from sister May,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Song of a Thousand Years
Lift up your eyes desponding freemen!
Fling to the winds your needless fears!
He who unfurl'd your beauteous banner,
Says it shall wave a thousand years!
"A thousand years!" my own Columbia!
'Tis the glad day so long foretold!
'Tis the glad morn whose early twilight
Washington saw in times of old.
What if the clouds, one little moment,
Hide the blue sky where morn appears --
When the bright sun, that tints them crimson,
Rises to shine a thousand years?
Tell the great world those bless-ed tidings!
Yes, and be sure the bondman hears;
Tell the oppress'd of ev'ry nation,
Jubilee lasts a thousand years!
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Come to Me, Sunbeam! I'm Dying
Come to me, Sunbeam! I'm dying
Uncared for, distress'd and alone.
Even now the pale angel with icy hand seizes
The heart that throbb'd along with your own.
Darling! delay not; for enginewheel stay not;
But wing'd by love, fly to my side:
Swift as the morning-beams fly, or I may not
Your coming abide.
Bring the calm joy of your presence--
To a chill'd heart the warmth of your love;
With a glance of these dear eyes this darkness illumine,
Until there comes light from above.
Eyes that shine clearest, with language sincerest,
Come speak me forgiven and bless'd:
Would you refuse me, my chosen! my dearest!
This dying request?
Still for your footsteps I listen;
Each momemt I listen and long
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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The Silver Horn
"Come, rest with me now, my silver horn!
My melodious joy, my silver horn!
These many long years my constant friend,
Together let our toiling end.
Yet fain would I ask (were mine the choice)
For a moment of strength to give thee voice--
One silvery peal ere life shall cease;
But not for war--for blessed peace."
Yes! once again ring, sweet silver horn
That long ago rang on battle morn--
From vale and glen that summon'd then
To arms! to arms! a thousand men.
For peace ring now! for peace ring high!
Ring a welcoming peal that shall not die
Till mountain and mound, the earth around,
Responsive songs in echo sound.
"Thy whispers I hear, my silver horn!
My melodious joy, my silver horn!
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Little Major
At his post, the "Little Major"
Dropp'd his drum, that battle-day;
On the grass, all stain'd with crimson,
Through that battle-night he lay--
Crying "Oh! for love of Jesus,
Grant me but this little boon!
Can you, friend, refuse me water?
Can you, when I die so soon?"
Crying "Oh! for love of Jesus,
Grant me but this little boon!
Can you, friend, refuse me water?
Can you, when I die so soon?"
They are none to hear or help him--
All his friends were early fled,
Save the forms, outstrech'd around him,
Of the dying and the dead.
Hush--they come! there falls a footstep!
How it makes his heart rejoice!
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Pity Me, Loo!
On the sunset borders of the mountains I stray,
Of a dear home dreaming 'yond the snow peaks far away,
While the bubbling brook beside me goes dancing along,
As it seeks the "Golden Gate" of the ocean blue;
And a lone bird murmurs in the bush-top his song--
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
Tra la la la, la la la la
From mate to mate the carol rings:
Tra la la la, la la la la!
la la la la
A thousand valleys through;
Yet the lone bird sorrows as he plaintively sings--
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
'Neath the rocks I'm treading there are treasures of gold,
But by far more precious is my own native mold.
Nevermore, in search of Beauty need Fancy take wings:
Here is beauty, here is grandeur, at ev'ry view;
Yet my heart grows heavy, and the lone bird still sings--
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Shadows on the Floor
Saturday night! Saturday night!
The hope that lingered has taken to flight;
From morning till evening, the weary week through,
In vain has he battled for something to do.
Poor man! emptyhanded, how can he return
To those whose fate hangs on the pence he may earn?
How can he reply to his questioner sweet --
"Did Papa bring Papa's girl somethin' to eat?"
Out of employ! out of employ!
Distress in the cottage where once there was joy;
How frightful the shadows that fall on the floor
When Want and Starvation appear at the door!
Wasting away! Wasting away!
His poor wife grows paler each sorrowful day,
Yet suffers in silence, and never complains, --
Reserving for others the crust that remains.
His fearful forebodings he seeks to disguise;
But now the child's prattle brings tears to his eyes;
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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