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| THE ANGEL of the nation’s peace | |
| Has wreathed with flowers the battle-drum; | |
| We see the fruiting fields increase | |
| Where sound of war no more shall come. | |
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| The swallow skims the Tennessee, | 5 |
| Soft winds play o’er the Rapidan; | |
| There only echo notes of glee, | |
| Where gleamed a mighty army’s van! | |
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| Fair Chattanooga’s wooded slope | |
| With summer airs is lightly stirred, | 10 |
| And many a heart is warm with hope | |
| Where once the deep-mouthed gun was heard. | |
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| The blue Potomac stainless rolls, | |
| And Mission Ridge is gemmed with fern; | |
| On many a height sleep gallant souls, | 15 |
| And still the blooming years return. | |
| |
| Thank God! unseen to outward eye, | |
| But felt in every freeman’s breast, | |
| From graves where fallen comrades lie | |
| Ascends at Nature’s wise behest, | 20 |
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| With springing grass and blossoms new, | |
| A prayer to bless the nation’s life, | |
| To freedom’s flower give brighter hue, | |
| And hide the awful stains of strife. | |
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| O, Boys in Blue, we turn to you, | 25 |
| The scarred and mangled who survive; | |
| No more we meet in grand review, | |
| But all the arts of freedom thrive. | |
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| Still glows the jewel in its shrine, | |
| Won where the James now tranquil rolls; | 30 |
| Its wealth for all, the glory thine, | |
| O memory of heroic souls! | |
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