Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems/Ashes

by James Ryder Randall

ASHES

The Spring will come with its ebullient blood,
With flush of roses and imperial eyes;
A vein of strength will throb along the flood—
Banners of beauty toss the pillared wood
When birds of music anthem to the skies.

And man prowls forth to mar thy gentle ways,
With sword and shot and sacrilegious hand;
Thy reign is fallen upon demon days,
We peer at thee althrough a gory haze,
Weeping and praying for our stricken land.

O Land! O Land! of benignant South!
The Great High Priest approaches to thy brow,
Anointing it with ashes; let thy mouth
Rebel not, nor thy heart be filled with drouth—
The hand will raise thee up that smites thee now.

Ash Wednesday, 1865.