Night after the Battle.
Yet, oh! that fathomless gulf that surged between two shores of light,
Seemed like a century's pain compressed and coiled up into a night.
Seemed like a century's pain compressed and coiled up into a night.
I thought, while I stayed on that battle field, of the waste around me there,
And bared my bleeding heart, that God might read its muttered prayer;
A prayer that asked for a fiery rod of lightnings in His hand,
To strike the sod where the traitor trod, and burn his track from the land;
A prayer that sued for the drops of rain in the eyes of the coining years,
To quench the sensuous smile of earth with a weight of heaven's pure tears.
And bared my bleeding heart, that God might read its muttered prayer;
A prayer that asked for a fiery rod of lightnings in His hand,
To strike the sod where the traitor trod, and burn his track from the land;
A prayer that sued for the drops of rain in the eyes of the coining years,
To quench the sensuous smile of earth with a weight of heaven's pure tears.
Columbia—oh! my country, weep!—weep!—thou art blind, insane!
Thy dear eyes stare, and thy hollow laugh is worse than a shriek of pain.
Why is the voice of thy revelry ringing through home and hall,
While lustrous drops of thy precious life bleed on thy joys' black pall?
Thy dear eyes stare, and thy hollow laugh is worse than a shriek of pain.
Why is the voice of thy revelry ringing through home and hall,
While lustrous drops of thy precious life bleed on thy joys' black pall?
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