In woe and ashes, as was meet, We wore the penitential sheet. But now I breathe a purer air, And from the depths of my despair Awaken to a cheering morn, Just breaking through the night forlorn, A morn of hopeful victory. Awake, my countrymen, with me! Redeem the honor which you lost. With any blood, at any cost! I ask not how the war began, Nor how the quarrel branched and ran To this dread height. The wrong or right Stands clear before God's faultless sight. I only feel the shameful blow, I only see the scornful foe, And vengeance burns in every vein To die, or wipe away the stain. The war-wise hero of the west, Wearing his glories as a crest, Of trophies gathered in your sight, Is arming for the coming fight. Full well his wisdom apprehends The duty and its mighty ends; The great occasion of the hour, That never lay in human power Since over Yorktown's tented plain The red cross fell, nor rose again. My humble pledge of faith I lay, Dear comrade of my school-boy day, Before thee, in the nation's view, And if thy prophet prove untrue, And from our country's grasp be thrown The sceptre and the starry crown, And thou, and all thy marshalled host Be baffled and in ruin lost; Oh! let me not outlive the blow That seals my country's overthrow! And, lest this woful end come true, Men of the North, I turn to you. Display your vaunted flag once more, Southward your eager columns pour! Sound trump, and fife, and rallying drum; From every hill and valley come. Old men, yield up your treasured gold! Can liberty be priced and sold? Fair matrons, maids, and tender brides Gird weapons to your lovers' sides; And though your hearts break at the deed, Give them your blessing and God-speed; Then point them to the field of flame, With words like those of Sparta's dame; And when the ranks are full and strong, And the whole army moves along, A vast result of care and skill, Obedient to the master will; And your young hero draws the sword, And gives the last commanding word That hurls your strength upon the foe-- Oh! let them need no second blow. Strike, as your fathers struck of old; Through summer's heat, and winter's cold; Through pain, disaster, and defeat; Through marches tracked with bloody feet; Through every ill that could befall The holy cause that bound them all! Strike as they struck for liberty! Strike as they struck to make you free! Strike for the crown of victory! END OF VOL. I. [Illustration] Knickerbocker Nuggets. NUGGET--"A diminutive mass of precious metal." "Little gems of bookmaking."--_Commercial Gazette_, Cincinnati.