Turn not from our pleading, lest blood flow like water!

With the rain of Thy love quench these perilous fires; That the sweet air, made clean from the scent of the slaughter,

May blush, North and South, with the flag of our sires:

Like a garden of roses and lilies, fresh-blowing,

Till the dead June seems thus to have blossomed anew; And Heaven, half in love with the counterfeit growing, To have spilled its white stars down in clusters for dew!

Oh, hear us, our God! That the crystal foundations
Of Liberty's home may be built on a rock ;
And Columbia, redeemed-the white lamb of the
nations,

Once more may stand fairest and first of the flock.

I return to a suggestion dropped on introducing this song. Hymns were originally sung in honor of some personified quality or idea; and the name may surely be applied now with propriety to a song or ode, in honor of a country, or of the spirit that vivifies a nation. Therefore, the author of the next song might well have given it the name which it bears, even were not the chorus written in a devotional strain. The word 'anthem,' which he uses with perfect admissible poetic licence, is improperly applied to a patriotic national song, as, for instance, in the case of "God Save the King," which is often styled the British National Anthem. But an anthem is essentially ecclesiastical in its form and spirit.

HYMN OF OUR UNION.

BY A. J. H. D.

Oh, the Hymn of our Union! its melody flows
Through the dreams of our children in cradled repose,
When their mothers are singing, our forefathers' songs,
And the voice of their sisters the chorus prolongs;
And the anthem rolls upward in harmonies grand,
To the throne of Jehovah, the strength of our land ;;

CHORUS:

And the Hymn of our Union for ever shall be,
Jehovah! Jehovah! our strength is in Thee!
Preserve us, preserve us, united and free;
Jehovah! Jehovah! our strength is in Thee!

Oh, the Flag of our Union! 'twas woven with light
From the bars of the rainbow, the stars of the night!
In the vesture of Freedom it swept from on high,
And its hues are all blended with beams of the sky.
'Twas the blood of our martyrs that crimson'd its bars,
And the souls of our heroes shine out from its stars!

CHORUS:

And the Hymn of our Union for ever shall be, &c.

Oh, the Land of our Union! it sweetens the morn
With the fragrance of orchards, the sunshine of corn:
In its bountiful bosom the fountains are sure, (
And the gold of its furrows is wealth for the poor:
And the children of exile as kindred may toil
In the vineyards of freedom, with sons of the soil.

CHORUS:

And the Hymn of our Union for ever shall be, &c.

Oh, the Soul of our Union! it blossomed of old,
With the pray'rs of the loyal, the faith of the bold;
And the fruits of its harvest we garner anew

In the deeds of the valiant, the lives of the true:
For the seeds of all Freedom in union are sown,

And the hopes of all nations are twined with our own.

CHORUS:

And the Hymn of our Union for ever shall be, &c.

The next song, although not at all suited to be a national hymn, is one which no American can read without a glow of interest. The graves of our dead heroes and statesmen are a living bond between us which it would take generations of alienated political existence to break. This thought is skilfully elaborated by the author of the following

stanzas.

OUR FATHERS' GRAVES.

BY CHARLES FARNHAM,

I.

From Oregon's eternal hills,

From California's golden shore,

From northern plains, whose thousand rills
Unite to swell the cataract's roar-
March on, march on in stern array
From all along Atlantic's waves !
Shall tyrant despots hold their sway
Around our fathers' sacred graves?

II.

Beneath the golden eagle's wings
That banner proud is waving on,
Where every land its offering fiings
Upon the grave of Jefferson;
Where Patrick Henry's soul of fire
Still burns amid disunion's woes,
And Randolph's voice shall not expire
Amid Virginia's sacred groves.

That land is ours-that beauteous land
Where Marion and Sumpter rest ;
And Jackson's tomb-Oh, let it stand
To guard the gateway of the West!
Preserve the grave of Washington-

His land his name-his home, is ours!
To Vernon's mount, march on, march on,
And strew your Father's grave with flowers.

IV.

Let Webster's voice each bosom warm,
And Clay the patriot's soul inspire,
And Benton's spirit guide the storm
When Freedom's dauntless sons expire!

And till the love of Truth shall fall,
And sink amid corruption's waves,

The Stars and Stripes shall float o'er all,
O'er all our Fathers' sacred graves.

"E PLURIBUS UNUM."

BY THE REV. JOUN PIERPONT.

AIR-" The Star-Spangled Banner

I.

The harp of the minstrel with melody rings,

When the Muses have taught him to touch and to

tune it;

And although it may have a full octave of strings,
To both maker and minstrel the harp is a unit.
So, the power that creates

Our Republic of States,

To harmony tunes them at different dates; And, many or few, when the Union is done, Be they thirteen or thirty, the nation is one.

II.

The science that measures and numbers the spheres,

And has done so since first the Chaldean began it, Now and then, as she counts them, and measures their

years,

Brings into our system and names a new planet.
Yet the old and new stars,

Venus, Neptune, and Mars,

As they drive round the sun their invisible cars,
Whether faster or slower their races are run,
Are "E Pluribus Unum "-of many made one.

II.

Of those federate spheres, should but one fly the track, Or with others conspire for a general dispersion,

By the great central orb they would all be brought back, And held, each in its place, by a wholesome "coercion.”