Ah! eyes may well be full of tears, And hearts with hate are hot; But even-paced come round the years, And Nature changes not. She meets with smiles our bitter grief, With songs our groans of pain; She mocks with tint of flower and leaf The war-field's crimson stain. Still, in the cannon's pause, we hear Her sweet thanksgiving-psalm; Too near to God for doubt or fear, She shares the eternal calm. She knows the seed lies safe below The fires that blast and burn; For all the tears of blood we sow She waits the rich return. She sees with clearer eve than ours The good of suffering born,-- The hearts that blossom like her flowers, And ripen like her corn. Oh, give to us, in times like these, The vision of her eyes; And make her fields and fruited trees Our golden prophecies Oh, give to us her finer ear Above this stormy din, We too would hear the bells of cheer Ring peace and freedom in. 1862. HYMN, SUNG AT CHRISTMAS BY THE SCHOLARS OF ST. HELENA'S ISLAND, S. C. OH, none in all the world before Were ever glad as we! We're free on Carolina's shore, We're all at home and free. Thou Friend and Helper of the poor, Who suffered for our sake, To open every prison door, And every yoke to break! Bend low Thy pitying face and mild, And help us sing and pray; The hand that blessed the little child, Upon our foreheads lay. We hear no more the driver's horn, No more the whip we fear, This holy day that saw Thee born Was never half so dear. The very oaks are greener clad, The waters brighter smile; Oh, never shone a day so glad On sweet St. Helen's Isle. We praise Thee in our songs to-day, To Thee in prayer we call, Make swift the feet and straight the way Of freedom unto all. Come once again, O blessed Lord! Come walking on the sea! And let the mainlands hear the word That sets the islands free! 1863. THE PROCLAMATION. President Lincoln's proclamation of emancipation was issued January 1, 1863. SAINT PATRICK, slave to Milcho of the herds Of Ballymena, wakened with these words "Arise, and flee Out from the land of bondage, and be free!" Glad as a soul in pain, who hears from heaven The angels singing of his sins forgiven, And, wondering, sees His prison opening to their golden keys, He rose a man who laid him down a slave, Shook from his locks the ashes of the grave, And outward trod Into the glorious liberty of God. He cast the symbols of his shame away; And, passing where the sleeping Milcho lay, Though back and limb Smarted with wrong, he prayed, "God pardon him!"