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CHAPTER IX.

66

Song of the Hague, in 1779—"God Save the Thirteen States"- Our

Union—The Blood that flowed at Lexington"Mount Vernon-
'Alleghanian Thunder-toned Decree- Our Country's Flag-
Our Country, Right or Wrong—Posterity's Delight—"Three
Hundred Thousand more—The Spangled Flag— Its Pride and
Glory— Foreign Foes, beware.

The following Song, written by a Dutch lady at the Hague, in 1779, for the sailors of five American vessels at Amsterdam, ought to be re-produced at this time, that it may never be forgotten by the American people as long as the days that tried men's souls are remembered

God save the Thirteen States ! long rule the United States !

God save our States !
Make us victorious——happy and glorious,
No tyrant over us- -God save our States.

Oft did America foresee with sad dismay,

Her slavery near.
Oft did her grievance state, but Britain, falsely great,
Urging her desperate fate, turned a deaf ear.

Now the proud British foe, we've made, by victories, know,

Our sacred right.
Witness at Bunker's Hill, where god-like Warren fell,
Happy his blood to spill, in gallant fight.

To our famed Washington-brave Starke at Bennington,

Glory is due.
Peace to Montgomery's shade, who as he fought and bled,
Drew honors round his head, numerous and true.

View Saratoga's plain, our captures on the main,

Moultrie's defence.
Our catalogue is long, of heroes yet unsung,
Who noble feats have done for Liberty.
The mother's melting moans, the aged father's groans,

Have steeled our arms.
Ye British whigs beware! your chains near formed are,
In spite of Richmond's care to sound alarms.

Come join your hands to ours; no royal blocks, no towers,

God save us all!
Thus in our country's cause, and to support our laws;
Our swords shall never pause at Freedom's call.
We'll fear no tyrant's nod, no stern oppression's rod,

Till time's no more.
Thus Liberty, when driven from Europe's states, is given
A safe retreat and haven, on our free shore.
O Lord, thy gifts in store, we pray on Congress pour,

To guide our States.
May union bless our land, while we, with heart and hand,
Our mutual rights defend—God save our states !
God save the Thirteen States ! long watch the prosperous fates,

Over our States !
Make us victorious ! happy and glorious !
No tyrants over us! God save our States !

The following songs, on account of their beautiful allusions to our patriot fathers and to the flag, should be transmitted to posterity as memorials of American patriotism still alive in the civil conflict of 1860.

OUR UNION.

The blood that flowed at Lexington, and crimsoned bright Champlain,
Streams still along the Southern Gulf, and by the Lakes of Maine ;
It flows in veins that swell above Pacific's golden sand,
And throbs in hearts that love and grieve by dark Atlantic's strand.
It binds in one vast brotherhood the trappers of the West
With men whose cities glass themselves in Erie's classic breast ;
And those to whom September brings the fire-side's social hours
With those who see December's brow en wreathed with gorgeous

flowers.

From where Columbia lauglis to meet the smiling Western wave,
To where Potomac sighs beside the patriot hero's grave,
And from the streaming everglades to Huron's lordly flood,
The glory of a nation's past thrills through a kindred blood.

Wherever Arnold's tale is told, it dyes the cheek with shame
That glows with pride o'er Bunker's Hill or Moultrie's milder fame;
And wheresoe'er above the flag the stars of empire gleam,
Upon the deck, or o'er the dust, it pours a common stream.

It is a sacred legacy ye never can divide,
Nor take from village urchin, nor the son of city pride,
Nor the hunter's white-haired children, who find a fruitful home,
Where nameless lakes are sparkling, and where lonely rivers roam.

Greene drew his sword at Eutaw, and bleeding Southern feet
Ford the march across the Delaware, amid the snow and slcet;
And lo! upon the parchment where the natal record shines,
The burning page of Jefferson bears Franklin's calmer lines !

Can ye divide that record bright, and tear the names apart
That erst were written boldly there with plight of hand and heart ?
Can ye erase a Hancock's name, e'en with the sabre's edge,
Or wash out with fraternal blood a Carroll's double pledge ?

Say, can the South sell out her share in Bunker's hoary height?
Or can the North give up her boast of Yorktown's closing fight?
Can ye divide with equal hand a heritage of graves,
Or rend in twain the starry flag that o'er them proudly waves ?

Can ye cast lots fur Vernon's soil, or chaffer 'midst the gloom
That hangs its solemn folds around our common Father's tomb?
Or can ye meet around his grave as fratricidal foes,
Or make your burning curses o'er his pure and calm repose ?

“Ye dare not !" is the Alleghanian thunder-toned decree, 'Tis echoed where Nevada guards the blue and tranquil sea, Where tropic waves delighted clasp our flowery Southern shore, And where through frowning mountain gates Nebraska's waters roar!

OUR COUNTRY'S FLAG.

BY A. W. BURKHART.

Come all ye sons of liberiy, and join us in our song,
And to Our Country let us sing, “Our Country right or wrong."
When treason rears her hideous form, let patriots all unite
And battle for our country's flag, for liberty and right.

Hurrah ! hurrah! for liberty, hurrah !
Hurrah for our country's flag, with all its stripes and stars.

The Union that our father's made in hallowed days of yore,
Foul treason strives to sever row, in falsehood, blood and war;
Our patriot sires have gone to rest—a legacy they gave,
And let us now united be, the sacred trust to save.

Hurrah ! hurrah ! for our father's flag, hurrah !
Hurrah for the red, the white, the blue, with every radiant star.

Our country's flag, the patriot's pride—the symbol of the free ;
Oh, may it wave till time shall end, o'er every land and sea;
May tyrants gaze upon its folds, with trembling fear dismayed,
'Till the oppressed of every clime are gathered 'neath its shade.

Hurrah! hurrah ! for liberty and right,
Hurrah for freedom's glorious stripes and shining stars so bright.

'Twas borne aloft by Washington, in days of “seventy-six.”
And Jackson brave, at New Orleans, new honors did affix;
In Mexico, the gallant Scott fresh laurels did entwine-
The glorious flag of spangled stars, oh! may they ever shine.

Hurrah ! hurrah! for the dear old flag, hurrah !
'Twas fashioned by the sainted dead, we'll not betray it now.

'Twas consecrated by the blood of countless heroes slainLet us prescrve its sacred folds free from dishonor's stain.

May curses seize the trailor knave who would its beauty mar,
Or strike from out its azure field a single precious star.

Hurrah! hurrah! for the Union flag Inurrah !

Red, blue and white its stripes so bright, and its galaxy of stars.
Then may it wave o'er freedom's home its stripes of red and white
A thousand glorious years to come-posterity's delight,
Until, emblazoned on its blue, a hundred orbs shall shine,
And in one holy brotherhood, a hundred States combine.

Hurrah! hurrah! fur our country's flag hurrah!
That banuer bright, our heart's delight, begemmed with many

a star.

“THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE!”

BY W. C. BRYANT.

We are coming, "Father Abraham," three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi's winding stream, and from New England's shore;
We leave our plows and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, but with a silent tear;
We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before,
We are coming “Father Abraham," three hundred thousand more.

If you look across the hill-tops that meet the northern sky,
Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry,
And now the wind an instant tears that cloudy veil aside,
And floats aloft our spangled flag, in glory and in pride;
And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour,
We are coming “Father Abraham," three hundred thousand more.

If you look

up all the valleys, where the growing harvests shine, You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast forming into line; And children from their mothers' knees are pulling at the weeds, And learning how to reap and sow, against their country's needs; And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door, We are coming “Father Abraham,” three hundred thousand more.

You have called us, and we're coming, by Richmond’s bloody tide, To lay us down for freedom's sake our brothers' bones beside,

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