I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel: 
  “As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal;
  Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel! 
          Since God is marching on.”

  He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
  He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;
  Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! 
          Our God is marching on.

  In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born, across the sea,
  With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me: 
  As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
          While God is marching on.

J.W.  HOWE.

Farragut.

  Farragut, Farragut,
    Old Heart of Oak,
  Daring Dave Farragut,
    Thunderbolt stroke,
  Watches the hoary mist
    Lift from the bay,
  Till his flag, glory-kissed,
    Greets the young day.

  Far, by gray Morgan’s walls,
    Looms the black fleet. 
  Hark, deck to rampart calls
    With the drums’ beat! 
  Buoy your chains overboard,
    While the steam hums;
  Men! to the battlement,
    Farragut comes.

  See, as the hurricane
    Hurtles in wrath
  Squadrons of clouds amain
    Back from its path! 
  Back to the parapet,
    To the guns’ lips,
  Thunderbolt Farragut
    Hurls the black ships.

  Now through the battle’s roar
    Clear the boy sings,
  “By the mark fathoms four,”
    While his lead swings. 
  Steady the wheelmen five
    “Nor’ by east keep her,”
  “Steady,” but two alive: 
    How the shells sweep her!

  Lashed to the mast that sways
    Over red decks,
  Over the flame that plays
    Round the torn wrecks,
  Over the dying lips
    Framed for a cheer,
  Farragut leads his ships,
    Guides the line clear.

  On by heights cannon-browed,
    While the spars quiver;
  Onward still flames the cloud
    Where the hulks shiver. 
  See, yon fort’s star is set,
    Storm and fire past. 
  Cheer him, lads,—­Farragut,
    Lashed to the mast!

  Oh! while Atlantic’s breast
    Bears a white sail,
  While the Gulf’s towering crest
    Tops a green vale;
  Men thy bold deeds shall tell,
    Old Heart of Oak,
  Daring Dave Farragut,
    Thunderbolt stroke!

W.T.  MEREDITH.

My Maryland.

  The despot’s heel is on thy shore,
        Maryland! 
  His torch is at thy temple door,
        Maryland! 
  Avenge the patriotic gore
  That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
  And be the battle-queen of yore,
        Maryland, my Maryland!

  Hark to an exiled son’s appeal,
        Maryland! 
  My Mother State, to thee I kneel,
        Maryland! 
  For life and death, for woe and weal,
  Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
  And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
        Maryland, my Maryland!