Homeward Bound

HOMEWARD BOUND.
—–
BY MRS. LIZZIE YORK CASE.
—–
Thank God! the last proud victory’s won!
The last long weary march is done,
The bivouac fires are burning low,
And conquered is the last proud foe.
And they who have the danger dared, –
And they who have the trials shared –
With wreathes of deathless glory crown’d,
Thank God! at last are “homeward bound.”

Shoulder to shoulder they have stood,
On many a field of war and blood,
Together fought on battle plain,
Together wept for comrades slain.
These soldiers brave, and tried, and true,
Will bid each other now adieus;
And with all glory victory crown’d,
Each warrior chief is “homeward bound.”

The drums shall muster them no more,
Nor cannon sent its deadly roar;
And bugle call they will not hear,
But voice of loved ones fill their ear;
The battle’s shock, the dungeons gloom,
They’ll change for joys of “home, sweet home,”
Oh! may a home with plenty crown’d,
Await each soldier “homeward bound.”

Ended at last, “this cruel war,”
Oh! mother, sister, weep no more!
Let all your fears and sorrows cease!
And hail the holy dream of peace.
Come with your smiles and kind words, come!
And bid the hero “welcome home,”
He comes with wreathes of laurel crown’d
Your soldier boy is “homeward bound.”

No more to tread the picket line,
No more in hospital to pine,
No more to long for words from “home,”
To cheer the weary prison gloom.
No more to rush to deadly strife,
No more to peril limb and life,
For peace at last, sweet peace is found,
And they who sought her, “homeward bound.”

What is the pittance that he shares?
For all the soldier braves and dares,
For who like him leaves home and friend,
His country’s honor to defend?
Oh! had the soldier’s courage failed!
Our banner in the dust had trailed,
And liberty her grave had found,
And slavery been with triumph crown’d.

When red the tide of battle lowered,
Or when defeated, overpowered,
Still firm the mighty phalanx stood,
Like rivers ran their hero blood –
They left them dead in thousands slain,
And “rallied ’round their flag” again,
They saw that flag with victory crown’d,
And now they’re marching, “homeward bound.”

They come to us all battle worn,
They bring our flag with bullets torn,
Yet with its stains of battle gore,
‘Tis dearer, holier, than before.
For liberty was born anew,
Beneath that old Red, white, and Blue,
Then hail the flag with glory crown’d,
Then hail our heroes “homeward bound.”

But there are hundred thousands slain,
Who sleep upon the Southern plain,
And there are thousand hearts that yearn,
For those who never will return.
Oh while we write each deathless name,
Upon the sacred scroll of fame,
Let us provide for those that mourn,
And comfort those whose hearts are torn,
Whose sons with brighter glory crown’d,
A dearer, better “home” have found.

BALTIMORE, MD., May 20th 1865.

The Union (Georgetown, Delaware) Jun 9, 1865

Hark! from the Battle Field

Hark, From the Battle Field.

TUNE — TROUBADOR.

Hark, from the battle-field
Cometh a wail,
Borne to our list’ning ears
By the Southern gale;
Lo! for the Union cause,
Die we to-day –
Home and friends, all we love,
Far, far away.

Sadly we mourn for those
Who die for the right;
Often think we of them,
In the still night;
Weep, weep, for those we love,
Dying to-day,
From their homes and their friends,
Far, far away.

They to our waiting hearts,
Never may come;
On Southern battle-fields,
Is their last home;
God bless the soldiers brave!
Dying to-day,
Home and friends, all they love,
Far, far away.

Green be their memory,
In warm hearts for aye;
For their brave passing souls,
Daily we pray –
God bless the soldier brave!
Dying to-day,
In Thy home, up in heaven,
Take them we pray.

Monroe Sentinel (Monroe, Wisconsin) Jun 25, 1862

Image from The Commercial Appeal

The Colored Soldier

Image from The USCT Chronicle

“For the Union.”

The Colored Soldier.
—–
BY REV. S.E.M.
—–
Loud o’er the haughty South, pillaged and torn,
Rang out the battle cry to Afric’s born;
Up from the slaver’s lash, bloody and keen
Up from the bed of woe, life to redeem,
Sprang the dark ranks at Columbia’s call,
Daring to save Liberty — or fall.

Up from their gory paths, beaten and scarred,
Out from their cheerless homes; scorning regard,
Craving but freedom to bare their dark breasts,
To triumph or die, e’er their saber should rest,
On rushed the slave-bands from tyranny’s van,
On from the homes where man is not man.

Off to the field of strife, hopeful and brave,
Off to the rest of a patriot’s grave,
Steadily, fearlessly, stearnly they trod,
Trusting for courage to Liberty’s God,
Swearing to purchase the boon of the free,
Shouting, “on to death or victory!”

Up to fire cannon’s mouth, gladly they went,
Over the slain “in red burial blent,”
Into the fangs of death, manfully strode,
Blood of the white and black, fearfully flowed,
Mingled and gurgled in one crimson stream,
And swords of bond and free mingled their gleam.

Hearts of one purpose, and men of one mind,
Thoughts of one prospect and strokes of one kind,
Visions of light neath the same banner’s blue,
Clad in the same garb of a Nation true,
Evermore true to the “Union” and Right,
True to the black man and true to the white.

Bleeding and fighting and dying they fell
How many and true, the red records tell,
Fell in the hope that the nation was true,
True to her free ones and her shackled too,
Breathed out their lives that their children might live,
For the rights that a grateful land can give.

Sweet o’er Columbia hills, lonly and bare,
Mounted the sun of Peace, cloudless and fair,
Back from the cannon’s mouth, victory crowned,
Came on the white and black o’er many a mound,
Came on, with their armless and legless frames,
White men and black men had suffered the same.

Image from “Freedom Fighters”

Loud from the lip, of men, pealed the glad strain,
“Long live Columbia,” triumphant again,
On the broad brow of the white chieftan placed,
The laurel of fame from a thankful race,
While back to his hut the black hero goes,
Unnoticed, unhonored, to his repose.

Far to the field of blood, gladly he went,
To where the ballot-box was torn and rent,
Like the sons of Eli, about the Ark,
He fought beside it when the night was dark;
He stood between it and the traitor’s steel,
He struck and bruised the bold oppressor’s heel.

Down by its sacred place, humbly bending,
Down with a tearful heart, of rings blending,
Glad that to Freedom there lives a strong shield,
Glad that the ballot a black man may wield,
When lo! proud Columbia spurns her black son
From altars and rights which his valor had won.

Wide were the gates she had opened to him,
Broad were the fields that lay peaceful within,
Bright was the change from the scourge to the crown,
And gladsome the life-strains that echoed down,
But, when from his hands the chains she had flung
It changed; and o’er all dead barrenness hung.

Shame, shame on Columbia, great thought she be,
To fetter minds and hearts, while hands are free,
To grant to her traitor offspring a voice,
While her dark-browed heroes cannot rejoice,
Look well to thy bulwarks, for God is true,
The blackman’s his child and brother to you.

The Union (Georgetown, Delaware) Jul 21, 1865