The corn is yet a-field, But many a stalk is red; Yet not with the autumn-tassel stained, But the blood of heroes shed; And their blood cries out from heaps of slain: Oh, brothers, leave the sheaves of grain; On, to the fields of the dead! By every quiet farm, Whence father and son had gone, The fairest daughters of the land, Brave-hearted, cheer us on, With the tender smiles that shelter tears, And words to thrill a soldier's ears, When bloody fields are won. Scarcely the form of man Was seen on the long highway; But patriot age, whose withered hands Stretched feebly up to pray, And children whose voices haunt us still, Gathered on every knoll and hill, Cheering us on our way. Yonder, with feeble limbs, A matron, with silver hair, Knelt, trembling, down on the soldier's path, And breathed to heaven a prayer, With quivering lips, with streaming eyes: "O God! preserve these gallant boys; In battle, be Thou there!" O, soldiers! such as these Like household memories come; For a thousand prayers ascend to-day From those we left at home; For the red, red field to-night may be Our couch, our grave--while Victory Shall shout above our tomb. In battle's bloody hour These pictures shall arise, Of mothers, sisters, wives, and homes, And red and streaming eyes; And every arm shall stronger be, For home, for God, for liberty, And strike, while mercy dies. HEADQUARTERS, _9th Regt. Virginia Vols._ RE-ENLISTMENT. BY MRS. MARGARITA J. CANEDO. What! shall we now throw down the blade, And doff the helmet from our brows? _Now_ see our holy cause betrayed, And recreant prove to all our vows? When first we drew these patriot swords, "A nation's freedom!" was the cry; Our faith was pledged in these proud words, And heaven has sealed the oath on high. Since then on dear-bought battle-plains We've seen our martyr brethren die, While on the soil that drank those stains, Their native earth where now they lie, The foe now treads--th' exulting foe, And desecrates the hero-graves. Say, can we peace or honor know While there the accursed banner waves? Dear are our homes, that smile afar; Oft in the weary soldier's dreams, While resting from the toils of war, He sees the light that round them beams. Dear are the loved and lovely maids Shrined in the patriot soldier's heart; Yet, while the foe our land invades, In vain the longing tear may start. _No!_ let the despot's hireling band, Who feel not honor--know not faith, Who war not for their native land, Fly trembling from a dreaded death. Our lives are to our country pledged, Until her last red field is won; For "liberty or death" is waged The war where fights her faithful son.