STODDARD'S POEMS
A CHRISTMAS HYMN TO AMERICA
Not as of old we keep the day
Whereon the Prince of Peace was born,
Whose kingdom comes not! Let us pray
It comes this holy morn:
Let us begin it; make our brawlings cease,
And kill the hate that lurks behind the mask of Peace!
Men of the South, if you recall
The fields your valor won in vain,
Unchecked the manly tears may fall
Above your heroes slain!
Weep! but remember we had heroes too,
As sadly dear to us as yours can be to you!
Men of the North, whose sons and sires,
Victorious in a hundred fights,
Gather no more about your fires
In the long winter nights;
If some you loved are missing here and there,
No household at the South but mourns its vacant chair!
By all the blood that has been shed,
And will be till contentions cease,
Bury your anger with the dead,
And be again at peace!
So, with your muskets rusting on the wall,
Your State shall be secure when greatest empires fall!
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