June 28, 1865. Vol. 1. No. 39. Page 4
Four years of horrid strife and blood,
Have passed at last away;
Brothers have met and madly fought
Each other in the fray.
The furious storm has wildly swept
O’er valley, hill and plain,
And scarce a heart in all the land,
But mourns a loved one slain.
But proudly o’er our stricken homes,.
Still waves our banner fair,
And on its field of glorious blue,
Each star is shining clear.
And spreading out its ample folds,
O’er North, South, East and West,
It calls the oppressed from every clime,
Beneath its shade to rest.
O, God of Nations! In Thy Hands
We leave our country’s fate
Believing if we trust in Thee,
We shall indeed be great.