"Once more in Glory's van with me!" Virginia cried to Tennessee; "We two together, come what may, Shall stand upon these works today!" (The reddest day in history.) Brave Tennessee! In reckless way Virginia heard her comrade say: "Close round this rent and riddled rag!" What time she set her battle-flag Amid the guns of Doubleday. But who shall break the guards that wait Before the awful face of Fate? The tattered standards of the South Were shriveled at the cannon's mouth, And all her hopes were desolate. In vain the Tennesseean set His breast against the bayonet; In vain Virginia charged and raged, A tigress in her wrath uncaged, Till all the hill was red and wet. Above the bayonets, mixed and crossed, Men saw a gray, gigantic ghost Receding through the battle-cloud, And heard across the tempest loud The death-cry of a nation lost! The brave went down! Without disgrace They leaped to Ruin's red embrace; They only heard Fame's thunders wake, And saw the dazzling sun-burst break In smiles on Glory's bloody face! They fell, who lifted up a hand And bade the sun in heaven to stand; They smote and fell, who set the bars Against the progress of the stars, And stayed the march of Motherland! They stood, who saw the future come On through the fight's delirium; They smote and stood, who held the hope Of nations on that slippery slope Amid the cheers of Christendom. God lives! He forged the iron will That clutched and held the trembling hill! God lives and reigns! He built and lent The heights for freedom's battlement Where floats her flag in triumph still! Fold up the banners! Smelt the guns! Love rules. Her gentler purpose runs. A mighty mother turns in tears The pages of her battle years, Lamenting all her fallen sons! WILL HENRY THOMPSON. UNITED ALL day it shook the land--grim battle's thunder tread; And fields at morning green, at eve are trampled red. But now, on the stricken scene, twilight and quiet fall; Only, from hill to hill, night's tremulous voices call; And comes from far along, where camp fires warning burn, The dread, hushed sound which tells of morning's sad return. Timidly nature awakens; the stars come out overhead, And a flood of moonlight breaks like a voiceless prayer for the dead. And steals the blessed wind, like Odin's fairest daughter, In viewless ministry, over the fields of slaughter; Soothing the smitten life, easing the pang of death, And bearing away on high the passing warrior's breath.