PARTING HYMN.
"DUNDEE" FATHER of Mercies, Heavenly Friend, We seek thy gracious throne; To Thee our faltering prayers ascend, Our fainting hearts are known.
From blasts that chill, from suns that smite, From every plague that harms; In camp and march, in siege and fight, Protect our men-at-arms.
Though from our darkened lives they take What makes our life most dear, We yield them for their country's sake With no relenting tear.
Our blood their flowing veins will shed, Their wounds our breasts will share; Oh, save us from the woes we dread, Or grant us strength to bear! Let each unhallowed cause that brings The stern destroyer cease, Thy flaming angel fold his wings, And seraphs whisper Peace! Thine are the sceptre and the sword, Stretch forth thy mighty hand,-- Reign Thou our kingless nation's Lord, Rule Thou our throneless land! THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY WHAT flower is this that greets the morn, Its hues from Heaven so freshly born?
With burning star and flaming band It kindles all the sunset land Oh tell us what its name may be,-- Is this the Flower of Liberty?
It is the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty! In savage Nature's far abode Its tender seed our fathers sowed; The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud, Its opening leaves were streaked with blood, Till Lo! earth's tyrants shook to see The full-blown Flower of Liberty Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty! Behold its streaming rays unite, One mingling flood of braided light,-- The red that fires the Southern rose, With spotless white from Northern snows, And, spangled o'er its azure, see The sister Stars of Liberty! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty! The blades of heroes fence it round, Where'er it springs is holy ground; From tower and dome its glories spread; It waves where lonely sentries tread; It makes the land as ocean free, And plants an empire on the sea! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty! Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom's flower, Shall ever float on dome and tower, To all their heavenly colors true, In blackening frost or crimson dew,-- And God love us as we love thee, Thrice holy Flower of Liberty! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry FLOWER OF LIBERTY! THE SWEET LITTLE MAN DEDICATED TO THE STAY-AT-HOME RANGERS Now, while our soldiers are fighting our battles, Each at his post to do all that he can, Down among rebels and contraband chattels, What are you doing, my sweet little man?
All the brave boys under canvas are sleeping, All of them pressing to march with the van, Far from the home where their sweethearts are weeping; What are you waiting for, sweet little man?
You with the terrible warlike mustaches, Fit for a colonel or chief of a clan, You with the waist made for sword-belts and sashes, Where are your shoulder-straps, sweet little man?
Bring him the buttonless garment of woman! Cover his face lest it freckle and tan; Muster the Apron-String Guards on the Common, That is the corps for the sweet little man! Give him for escort a file of young misses, Each of them armed with a deadly rattan; They shall defend him from laughter and hisses, Aimed by low boys at the sweet little man.
All the fair maidens about him shall cluster, Pluck the white feathers from bonnet and fan, Make him a plume like a turkey-wing duster,-- That is the crest for the sweet little man! Oh, but the Apron-String Guards are the fellows Drilling each day since our troubles began,-- "Handle your walking-sticks!" "Shoulder umbrellas!" That is the style for the sweet little man! Have we a nation to save?
In the first place Saving ourselves is the sensible plan,-- Surely the spot where there's shooting's the worst place Where I can stand, says the sweet little man.
Catch me confiding my person with strangers! Think how the cowardly Bull-Runners ran! In the brigade of the Stay-at-Home Rangers Marches my corps, says the sweet little man.
Such was the stuff of the Malakoff-takers, Such were the soldiers that scaled the Redan; Truculent housemaids and bloodthirsty Quakers, Brave not the wrath of the sweet little man! Yield him the sidewalk, ye nursery maidens! _Sauve qui peut_! Bridget, and right about! Ann;-- Fierce as a shark in a school of menhadens, See him advancing, the sweet little man! When the red flails of the battle-field's threshers Beat out the continent's wheat from its bran, While the wind scatters the chaffy seceshers, What will become of our sweet little man?
When the brown soldiers come back from the borders, How will he look while his features they scan?
How will he feel when he gets marching orders, Signed by his lady love?
sweet little man! Fear not for him, though the rebels expect him,-- Life is too precious to shorten its span; Woman her broomstick shall raise to protect him, Will she not fight for the sweet little man?
Now then, nine cheers for the Stay-at-Home Ranger! Blow the great fish-horn and beat the big pan! First in the field that is farthest from danger, Take your white-feather plume, sweet little man! UNION AND LIBERTY FLAG of the heroes who left us their glory, Borne through their battle-fields' thunder and flame, Blazoned in song and illumined in story, Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame! Up with our banner bright, Sprinkled with starry light, Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, While through the sounding sky Loud rings the Nation's cry,-- UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE! Light of our firmament, guide of our Nation, Pride of her children, and honored afar, Let the wide beams of thy full constellation Scatter each cloud that would darken a star Up with our banner bright, etc.
Empire unsceptred! what foe shall assail thee, Bearing the standard of Liberty's van?
Think not the God of thy fathers shall fail thee, Striving with men for the birthright of man! Up with our banner bright, etc.
Yet if, by madness and treachery blighted, Dawns the dark hour when the sword thou must draw, Then with the arms of thy millions united, Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law! Up with our banner bright, etc.
Lord of the Universe! shield us and guide us, Trusting Thee always, through shadow and sun! Thou hast united us, who shall divide us?
Keep us, oh keep us the MANY IN ONE! Up with our banner bright, Sprinkled with starry light, Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, While through the sounding sky Loud rings the Nation's cry,-- UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE! SONGS OF WELCOME AND FAREWELL AMERICA TO RUSSIA AUGUST 5, 1866 Read by Hon.

G.V.Fox at a dinner given to the Mission from the United States, St.Petersburg.
THOUGH watery deserts hold apart The worlds of East and West, Still beats the selfsame human heart In each proud Nation's breast.
Our floating turret tempts the main And dares the howling blast To clasp more close the golden chain That long has bound them fast.
In vain the gales of ocean sweep, In vain the billows roar That chafe the wild and stormy steep Of storied Elsinore.
She comes! She comes! her banners dip In Neva's flashing tide, With greetings on her cannon's lip, The storm-god's iron bride! Peace garlands with the olive-bough Her thunder-bearing tower, And plants before her cleaving prow The sea-foam's milk-white flower.
No prairies heaped their garnered store To fill her sunless hold, Not rich Nevada's gleaming ore Its hidden caves infold, But lightly as the sea-bird swings She floats the depths above, A breath of flame to lend her wings, Her freight a people's love! When darkness hid the starry skies In war's long winter night, One ray still cheered our straining eyes, The far-off Northern light.
And now the friendly rays return From lights that glow afar, Those clustered lamps of Heaven that burn Around the Western Star.
A nation's love in tears and smiles We bear across the sea, O Neva of the banded isles, We moor our hearts in thee! WELCOME TO THE GRAND DUKE ALEXIS MUSIC HALL, DECEMBER 6, 1871 Sung to the Russian national air by the children of the public schools.
SHADOWED so long by the storm-cloud of danger, Thou whom the prayers of an empire defend, Welcome, thrice welcome! but not as a stranger, Come to the nation that calls thee its friend! Bleak are our shores with the blasts of December, Fettered and chill is the rivulet's flow; Throbbing and warm are the hearts that remember Who was our friend when the world was our foe.
Look on the lips that are smiling to greet thee, See the fresh flowers that a people has strewn Count them thy sisters and brothers that meet thee; Guest of the Nation, her heart is thine own! Fires of the North, in eternal communion, Blend your broad flashes with evening's bright star! God bless the Empire that loves the Great Union; Strength to her people! Long life to the Czar! AT THE BANQUET TO THE GRAND DUKE ALEXIS DECEMBER 9, 1871 ONE word to the guest we have gathered to greet! The echoes are longing that word to repeat,-- It springs to the lips that are waiting to part, For its syllables spell themselves first in the heart.
Its accents may vary, its sound may be strange, But it bears a kind message that nothing can change; The dwellers by Neva its meaning can tell, For the smile, its interpreter, shows it full well.
That word! How it gladdened the Pilgrim yore, As he stood in the snow on the desolate shore! When the shout of the sagamore startled his ear In the phrase of the Saxon, 't was music to hear! Ah, little could Samoset offer our sire,-- The cabin, the corn-cake, the seat by the fire; He had nothing to give,--the poor lord of the land,-- But he gave him a WELCOME,--his heart in his hand! The tribe of the sachem has melted away, But the word that he spoke is remembered to-day, And the page that is red with the record of shame The tear-drops have whitened round Samoset's name.
The word that he spoke to the Pilgrim of old May sound like a tale that has often been told; But the welcome we speak is as fresh as the dew,-- As the kiss of a lover, that always is new! Ay, Guest of the Nation! each roof is thine own Through all the broad continent's star-bannered zone; From the shore where the curtain of morn is uprolled, To the billows that flow through the gateway of gold.
The snow-crested mountains are calling aloud; Nevada to Ural speaks out of the cloud, And Shasta shouts forth, from his throne in the sky, To the storm-splintered summits, the peaks of Altai! You must leave him, they say, till the summer is green! Both shores are his home, though the waves roll between; And then we'll return him, with thanks for the same, As fresh and as smiling and tall as he came.
But ours is the region of arctic delight; We can show him auroras and pole-stars by night; There's a Muscovy sting in the ice-tempered air, And our firesides are warm and our maidens are fair.
The flowers are full-blown in the garlanded hall,-- They will bloom round his footsteps wherever they fall; For the splendors of youth and the sunshine they bring Make the roses believe 't is the summons of Spring.
One word of our language he needs must know well, But another remains that is harder to spell; We shall speak it so ill, if he wishes to learn How we utter Farewell, he will have to return! AT THE BANQUET TO THE CHINESE EMBASSY AUGUST 21, 1868 BROTHERS, whom we may not reach Through the veil of alien speech, Welcome! welcome! eyes can tell What the lips in vain would spell,-- Words that hearts can understand, Brothers from the Flowery Land! We, the evening's latest born, Hail the children of the morn! We, the new creation's birth, Greet the lords of ancient earth, From their storied walls and towers Wandering to these tents of ours! Land of wonders, fair Cathay, Who long hast shunned the staring day, Hid in mists of poet's dreams By thy blue and yellow streams,-- Let us thy shadowed form behold,-- Teach us as thou didst of old.
Knowledge dwells with length of days; Wisdom walks in ancient ways; Thine the compass that could guide A nation o'er the stormy tide, Scourged by passions, doubts, and fears, Safe through thrice a thousand years! Looking from thy turrets gray Thou hast seen the world's decay,-- Egypt drowning in her sands,-- Athens rent by robbers' hands,-- Rome, the wild barbarian's prey, Like a storm-cloud swept away: Looking from thy turrets gray Still we see thee.

Where are they?
And to I a new-born nation waits, Sitting at the golden gates That glitter by the sunset sea,-- Waits with outspread arms for thee! Open wide, ye gates of gold, To the Dragon's banner-fold! Builders of the mighty wall, Bid your mountain barriers fall! So may the girdle of the sun.
Bind the East and West in one, Till Mount Shasta's breezes fan The snowy peaks of Ta Sieue-Shan,-- Till Erie blends its waters blue With the waves of Tung-Ting-Hu,-- Till deep Missouri lends its flow To swell the rushing Hoang-Ho! AT THE BANQUET TO THE JAPANESE EMBASSY AUGUST 2, 1872 WE welcome you, Lords of the Land of the Sun! The voice of the many sounds feebly through one; Ah! would 't were a voice of more musical tone, But the dog-star is here, and the song-birds have flown.
And what shall I sing that can cheat you of smiles, Ye heralds of peace from the Orient isles?
If only the Jubilee--Why did you wait?
You are welcome, but oh! you're a little too late! We have greeted our brothers of Ireland and France, Round the fiddle of Strauss we have joined in the dance, We have lagered Herr Saro, that fine-looking man, And glorified Godfrey, whose name it is Dan.
What a pity! we've missed it and you've missed it too, We had a day ready and waiting for you; We'd have shown you--provided, of course, you had come-- You 'd have heard--no, you would n't, because it was dumb.
And then the great organ! The chorus's shout Like the mixture teetotalers call "Cold without"-- A mingling of elements, strong, but not sweet; And the drum, just referred to, that "couldn't be beat." The shrines of our pilgrims are not like your own, Where white Fusiyama lifts proudly its cone, (The snow-mantled mountain we see on the fan That cools our hot cheeks with a breeze from Japan.) But ours the wide temple where worship is free As the wind of the prairie, the wave of the sea; You may build your own altar wherever you will, For the roof of that temple is over you still.
One dome overarches the star-bannered shore; You may enter the Pope's or the Puritan's door, Or pass with the Buddhist his gateway of bronze, For a priest is but Man, be he bishop or bonze.
And the lesson we teach with the sword and the pen Is to all of God's children, "We also are men! If you wrong us we smart, if you prick us we bleed, If you love us, no quarrel with color or creed!" You'll find us a well-meaning, free-spoken crowd, Good-natured enough, but a little too loud,-- To be sure, there is always a bit of a row When we choose our Tycoon, and especially now.
You'll take it all calmly,--we want you to see What a peaceable fight such a contest can be, And of one thing be certain, however it ends, You will find that our voters have chosen your friends.
If the horse that stands saddled is first in the race, You will greet your old friend with the weed in his face; And if the white hat and the White House agree, You'll find H.G.really as loving as he.
But oh, what a pity--once more I must say-- That we could not have joined in a "Japanese day"! Such greeting we give you to-night as we can; Long life to our brothers and friends of Japan! The Lord of the mountain looks down from his crest As the banner of morning unfurls in the West; The Eagle was always the friend of the Sun; You are welcome!--The song of the cage-bird is done.
BRYANT'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY NOVEMBER 3, 1864 O EVEN-HANDED Nature! we confess This life that men so honor, love, and bless Has filled thine olden measure.

Not the less.
We count the precious seasons that remain; Strike not the level of the golden grain, But heap it high with years, that earth may gain.
What heaven can lose,--for heaven is rich in song Do not all poets, dying, still prolong Their broken chants amid the seraph throng, Where, blind no more, Ionia's bard is seen, And England's heavenly minstrel sits between The Mantuan and the wan-cheeked Florentine?
This was the first sweet singer in the cage Of our close-woven life.

A new-born age Claims in his vesper song its heritage.
Spare us, oh spare us long our heart's desire! Moloch, who calls our children through the fire, Leaves us the gentle master of the lyre.
We count not on the dial of the sun The hours, the minutes, that his sands have run; Rather, as on those flowers that one by one.
From earliest dawn their ordered bloom display Till evening's planet with her guiding ray Leads in the blind old mother of the day, We reckon by his songs, each song a flower, The long, long daylight, numbering hour by hour, Each breathing sweetness like a bridal bower.
His morning glory shall we e'er forget?
His noontide's full-blown lily coronet?
His evening primrose has not opened yet; Nay, even if creeping Time should hide the skies In midnight from his century-laden eyes, Darkened like his who sang of Paradise, Would not some hidden song-bud open bright As the resplendent cactus of the night That floods the gloom with fragrance and with light?
How can we praise the verse whose music flows With solemn cadence and majestic close, Pure as the dew that filters through the rose?
How shall we thank him that in evil days He faltered never,--nor for blame, nor praise, Nor hire, nor party, shamed his earlier lays?
But as his boyhood was of manliest hue, So to his youth his manly years were true, All dyed in royal purple through and through! He for whose touch the lyre of Heaven is strung Needs not the flattering toil of mortal tongue Let not the singer grieve to die unsung! Marbles forget their message to mankind: In his own verse the poet still we find, In his own page his memory lives enshrined, As in their amber sweets the smothered bees,-- As the fair cedar, fallen before the breeze, Lies self-embalmed amidst the mouldering trees.
Poets, like youngest children, never grow Out of their mother's fondness.