| |
| THOU hast not drooped thy stately head, | |
| Thy woes a wondrous beauty shed! | |
| Not like a lamb to slaughter led, | |
| But with the lion’s monarch tread, | |
| Thou comest to thy battle bed, | 5 |
| Savannah! O Savannah! | |
| |
| Thine arm of flesh is girded strong; | |
| The blue veins swell beneath thy wrong; | |
| To thee the triple cords belong, | |
| Of woe and death and shameless wrong, | 10 |
| And spirit vaunted long, too long! | |
| Savannah! O Savannah! | |
| |
| No blood-stains spot thy forehead fair; | |
| Only the martyrs’ blood is there; | |
| It gleams upon thy bosom bier, | 15 |
| It moves thy deep, deep soul to prayer, | |
| And tunes a dirge for thy sad ear, | |
| Savannah! O Savannah! | |
| |
| Thy clean white hand is opened wide | |
| For weal or woe, thou Freedom Bride; | 20 |
| The sword-sheath sparkles at thy side, | |
| Thy plighted troth, whate’er betide, | |
| Thou hast but Freedom for thy guide, | |
| Savannah! O Savannah! | |
| |
| What though the heavy storm-cloud lowers | 25 |
| Still at thy feet the old oak towers; | |
| Still fragrant are thy jessamine bowers, | |
| And things of beauty, love, and flowers | |
| Are smiling o’er this land of ours, | |
| My sunny home, Savannah! | 30 |
| |
| There is no film before thy sight,— | |
| Thou seest woe and death and night— | |
| And blood upon thy banner bright; | |
| But in thy full wrath’s kindled might, | |
| What carest thou for woe or night? | 35 |
| My rebel home, Savannah! | |
| |
| Come—for the crown is on thy head! | |
| Thy woes a wondrous beauty shed, | |
| Not like a lamb to slaughter led, | |
| But with the lion’s monarch tread, | 40 |
| Oh! come unto thy battle bed, | |
| Savannah! O Savannah! | |
| |
